


A Lot's Gonna Change

by TheEndOfEverything



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead: World Beyond (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Civic Republic Military, Didn't plan to spend so much time with the CRM but here we are, Domestic Fluff, Elaborate Escape Plans, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Fall in love first and work out the details later, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, chosen family, it's so fluffy I'm gonna die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEndOfEverything/pseuds/TheEndOfEverything
Summary: Althea and Isabelle have been longing for each other for nearly a year, and enough is enough. Nothing - not the Civic Republic Military, not Virginia, not the apocalypse - will keep them apart.
Relationships: Althea & Charlie (Fear the Walking Dead), Althea & Dwight (Walking Dead), Althea/Isabelle (Fear the Walking Dead), Charlie & Dakota (Fear the Walking Dead), Isabelle(Fear the Walking Dead) & Huck | Jennifer Mallick
Comments: 79
Kudos: 29





	1. It's so lonely to think of us apart

**Author's Note:**

> \+ Starts with Isabelle, but Althea shows up in chapter 5. Fluff is pretty much nonexistent until then.  
> \+ The first 4 chapters have some TWD: World Beyond characters and plot connections, so I'll explain it in the end notes for those of you who haven't watched. (Warning: spoilers)  
> \+ Takes place after 607. Althea's stuff is canon up through 607.

It’s five a.m., and Isabelle’s alarm is blaring two feet from her head. _That’s great, it starts with an earthquake—_ She slams her hand down on it, silencing the noise… the noise going on outside her head, anyway. Inside is a different story. Echoes of the nightmare that her alarm ended are likely to follow her throughout her workday.

_The acrid smell of fuel burning her nostrils. Her stomach lurching as the helicopter falls out of the sky. Every warning light flashing and every alarm sounding. The explosion upon impact. The scream buried inside her as she’s engulfed in flames._ A normal person would be screaming their head off, but in her dream she didn’t make a sound. Somehow even in the moment before her death, the Civic Republic Military’s brainwashing has taken over the person she was before, and that might be the scariest part of all.

Thoughts of this nightmare might possibly even drown out the voice that’s been following her around for the last couple of months, and, as torturous as it is, she fights to keep it in the forefront of her mind. _It is_ _good to hear your voice._

_Al, you have no idea._

Isabelle had recognized her voice immediately, and in the moment, she’d struggled over what to do. How to warn her to stay away, again, and yet still convey that she knows it’s her, and that she hasn’t stopped thinking of her for a year, that the only time she’s felt human since the end of everything was with her. She accomplished the first two, and maybe the third. Maybe.

The words _I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw your face_ probably would have been more effective in making it clear to Al how she felt, but it also would’ve been more effective in getting herself killed by the very organization she’d pledged her life to serving. There was no love in the Civic Republic Military, even amongst its members, but with an outsider? One who was a threat that, had they known about her, she would've been expected to have eliminated a year ago? Isabelle would be dead and Al would be dead. Unless the rumors about what went on at the CR’s research facility were true, in which case a simple death would be far better than what the repercussions _could_ potentially be.

And yet part of her still wishes she’d had the guts to say it. _Too late now,_ she thinks. After the rooftop, Isabelle had taken a page from Al’s book and had started listening in on Al’s communications with her partner, and both of their communications with their bosses. However, both Al and her friend had disappeared from the airwaves only a few weeks after that, and at this point Isabelle has no idea if she’s still alive – something she’s trying her hardest not to think about, banking instead on Al’s strong survival instincts.

She sighs and forces herself out of bed, into her bite-proof fatigues, and down to the mess hall for breakfast before reporting for duty.

Never in her life did she expect she’d end up flying helicopters, but it's just one line on a huge list of things Isabelle never thought she’d do, but has done. She suspects it’s a much better gig than what most people still alive today are doing and she feels slightly guilty about how bored of it she is. She tries to make the best of it, but it keeps getting harder and harder to get up in the morning each day.

As she goes through her pre-flight checks, her mind goes back to the nightmare… how could it not, when all of these safety protocols are in place to prevent that exact scenario from happening? Although she hasn’t ever been a big believer in anything supernatural, Isabelle wonders if the nightmare might be some sort of warning. She tries to put it out of her head so she can actually focus on the task at hand.

Most of Isabelle’s drop sites today are near or within the ruins of Austin, and once she’s in the air she calculates how many precious minutes of flight time she might be able to get away with using outside her route without it raising suspicion. Or maybe it already has, on the other days she's done this. Isabelle knows her last name has bought her privileges and leniency she hasn’t earned. She’s learned to be grateful for it rather than question the fairness of it. Still, she worries that the amount of grace she’s been given may run out sooner rather than later.

After her third stop on the outskirts of the city, Isabelle veers off course, flying as low as she can, looking for any signs of human life – crops, livestock, operational vehicles, anything. Looking for Al has been like looking for a needle in a haystack, except the needle never seems to stay in one place for very long. But if she doesn’t at least try, she might go insane. Frustrated over finding nothing yet again, she pushes her luck just a little further.

As she’s flying further out away from the city, she sees what appears to be a dry lakebed. Veering closer, but not close enough to be noticed, she sees a small cluster of buildings. Isabelle is well aware of the frequency in which small towns were wiped out as dams were built to create reservoirs and generate hydroelectric power, but these buildings look less like ruins than they should.

_Interesting_. Isabelle increases her altitude and corrects her course, committing what she saw to memory. It’s probably nothing, but it might be something, and it’s going to take a little more investigation.

Later in the mess hall, Isabelle watches for her cousin as she picks at her dinner. “Hey, Mallick!” she yells, just loud enough to get her attention as she looks for a seat, “come sit with me.”

“Hey, Izzy!” Jenn says as she sits down across from Isabelle.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that? _I hate it._ ”

“Sorry, _Kublek_. Old habits, ya know?”

Isabelle reminds herself that she’s asking her cousin for a favor that could potentially get both of them into a boatload of trouble, and forces a small smile onto her face. “I know... it’s what you grew up with. Your totally badass older cousin, Izzy.”

“You were, man! You let me tag along to stuff my parents _never_ would’ve let me go to otherwise. And you took the fall for me more than a couple times. Mom probably still thinks I’ve never smoked pot.”

Isabelle manages a more genuine smile this time. “I was pretty cool, wasn’t I. I always had fun with you, Jenn. Even though you were four years younger.” She takes a bite of her pasta.

“I still am… I just outrank you now,” Jennifer says with a smirk. She’s right. When she joined the Civic Republic Military, her rank from the Marines had transferred over, and her act of defiance in saving civilians had actually earned her a promotion. It’s hard to start a new civilization without civilians, and the CR recognized that.

“So what’s up? Usually if we eat together… hell, if we talk at all, it’s because I seek you out. No offense, Isabelle, but you’re kind of a loner. I do still think of you as one of my best friends, if that’s something you care about.” Jenn grins at her.

“None taken. You’re right. I just like being alone a lot, I guess.” Isabelle glances around, thankful for the noise and bustle of the mess hall. “Hey, Jenn? I was wondering if we could talk about something. Completely off the record.”

Jennifer also looks around before scooting her chair in and leaning in toward her cousin. “Yeah. Family still comes first over CRM. Not that I’m going to tell my mom or anything", she adds quickly, "I just mean us. You can trust me.”

Isabelle takes a deep breath. She hasn’t told anyone about Al. Who would she even tell? Jennifer is right… she’s definitely a loner. The last friend she had was Beckett, and that didn’t turn out so well.

“So almost a year ago now, I met someone while I was on a mission.” Those first few words are hard, but the rest of it flows out of her like a river. How had she held all of this in for so long? She leaves out the details about just how much information about the CR that Al had acquired, but she tells her pretty much everything else.

“Jenn, I’ll be honest. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last here. I’ve never been happy, but it felt worth it when I still bought into all of it. All the sacrificing for the future shit. And then I met her. And remembered that life can be so much more, and it _needs_ to be so much more. I need to find Al, and I need to get the fuck out of here so I can be with her. The future matters, but so does the present.”

Jennifer looks a little shocked by Isabelle’s revelation. Isabelle is equally shocked by Jenn’s response. “How can I help?”

Isabelle furrows her brow. “Seriously? I didn’t think you were going to be okay with this at all, to be honest.”

“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be okay with this. This is absolutely because we’re family, and because I love you, and because I saw what a mess you were over Ja—”

“We’re not talking about Jamie,” Isabelle snaps. She softens her tone. “Sorry. But that was before, and this is now. I have to leave all that in the past, Jenn.”

Her cousin reaches across the table to squeeze her hand, and Isabelle realizes how long it’s been since she’s been touched by another human being.

Jenn repeats herself. “How can I help you?”

“I think I found what might be a settlement starting up in a lakebed, and I want to check it out. I don’t have any reason to be getting my hopes up… I just have a good feeling about it. So what I’m wondering is, do you still have access to the garage?”

“Of course I do. Let me think for a minute.” Jenn works on her dinner calmly. Isabelle forces herself to eat a few bites in order to not raise suspicion.

“Okay. So, I have a code for literally every door and gate on this base. So what I’ll do is go to the garage, pull rank on the guards and send them on a short break, and while they’re gone we’ll send you out in a truck. We’ll just have to have a set time for you to be back, after the shift change, so I can get you back in safely. This is actually a pretty simple plan.” She stuffs a bite of her salad in her mouth.

“Can we do it tonight?”

“Tonight?! Just jumping right in, huh.”

She nods. There’s no way in hell Isabelle is admitting to her cousin that she’s worried she’ll lose her nerve if she waits another day.

“Okay. Come into the garage through B-2 at exactly twenty-two hundred hours.”

At ten o’ clock that evening Isabelle enters the massive underground garage under the mess hall. “I had a hell of a time getting these guys to take a break. Wouldn’t have had to tell me twice when I was a private,” says Jenn, tossing her a set of keys. “Space D-2, it’s a black Tacoma. I’ll see you at zero four hundred. Not earlier, not later. If you’re not back then, we’re both fucked.”

“I’ll make it happen. You’re the best, Jennifer.”

The drive to the dam would have taken under thirty minutes, back when highways were still maintained and not littered with bodies and abandoned vehicles. It takes Isabelle nearly two hours. She parks a fourth of a mile away from the dam, stuffs her pistol in her waistband, checks her knives, and puts on the unwieldy space-age helmet – but takes it off almost immediately, tossing it back into the cab of the truck. There’s no way she’ll be able to navigate the uneven terrain, in the dark, wearing that thing.

Isabelle is thankful for the full moon tonight. Using her flashlight is much too risky. She’s just gathering information this evening, no matter what, or whom, she might find. She can’t even begin to process the complications that being seen would cause.

She comes to a halt when she gets close enough to look down onto the small settlement. There are enough windows illuminated for her to get an idea of the size of the village. There appear to be about fifteen houses, with as many partially built structures. Off to one end of the village is a sea of tents, and off to the other, a corral occupied by a few horses. She can see two people patrolling the perimeter, rifles on their backs. Just their silhouettes. As crazy as it seems, Isabelle is sure that one of them is the woman for whom she’s ready to throw her whole life away.

And then she laughs at something the other person says, loud enough for Isabelle to hear from her vantage point. She was right – it’s her.

Five a.m. comes way too soon the next morning and she misses the button on her alarm twice before she hits it. _World serves its own needs, Don't misserve your own needs…_ It’s the end of the world as we know it, and Isabelle feels like she’s about six hours of sleep short of feeling fine. And she’s really got to start waking up to a different song.

At breakfast she gulps down her first cup of coffee before she’s even eaten a single bite. As she digs into her oatmeal, another mug appears before her like magic.

“Thought you might need a second cup this morning, cousin, so I pulled a couple strings.” Jennifer smiles, looking almost as sleepy as Isabelle, and sits down across from her. She lowers her voice. “So, fill me in.”

Isabelle picks up the mug, inhaling the steam happily. She looks at her cousin across the table. “She’s there. So I guess tonight I start planning."

Isabel’s day starts out like a normal Wednesday, but is thrown completely off course that afternoon.

“Ground 17, do you copy?”

“I copy.”

“You need to head back to base.”

_“Why?”_

“Visitor.”

_Oh god, what now?_ “Copy that. Proceeding to base.”

Isabelle sighs as she lands the chopper and Lieutenant Colonel Aunt Elizabeth Kublek comes into view. Her father’s only sister. Besides their blood and their last name, the only thing she and her aunt have in common is the fact that they’d both survived this long. Isabelle, Aunt Elizabeth, and Jennifer – the remaining members of the extended Kublek/Mallick family tree.

_Why the hell is she here? Central Texas is a long way from New England – no, not New England – the Civic Republic,_ she corrects herself. The CR tends to be a little sensitive about things like that.

“Aunt Elizabeth, I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Are you here to see Jenn?”

“Isabelle! You’re looking well… perhaps a little tired.” Lieutenant Colonel Kublek greets her in her very proper accent. How she’s lived in the United States for over forty years and still has her British accent is a mystery to Isabelle. “And no, I’m not here to see my daughter. I’m actually here to see you.”

“A bit of journey from the Civic Republic, just to see me, isn’t it?” Isabelle fights to keep an evenness in her voice and expression. If she acts upbeat, that’ll tip off her aunt just as much as if she acts guilty. Not that she really knows why her aunt is here in the first place. Except Isabelle’s palms are sweating. She wipes them on the rough texture of her fatigues. She has a good idea of what’s brought her aunt here.

“I was in Omaha. It really isn’t too long of a trip – about five hours in the air. And of course I always get to see Jennifer no matter why I’m here… a little more of a motivator to come down. Let’s take a drive, shall we? Have a chance to chat?”

Isabelle’s mouth goes dry and she’s sure she’s white as a sheet. “That sounds nice.” Even though no one goes for a nice drive, these days.

She's been behind the wheel for less than fifteen minutes when her aunt directs her to pull over. “Isabelle,” she begins, “it has been brought to my attention that you seem to be having some… difficulties, and that it’s been going on for some time now. Are you all right? Insomnia? Depression? Some other type of health issue?

“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Elizabeth’s entire demeanor changes. “Isabelle, the position you find yourself in currently – piloting a helicopter solo; enjoying private living quarters; having higher rank than you’ve technically earned – all of these things have happened because I pulled strings for you. And for the first two years, you lived up to what’s expected of a Kublek. But your performance this last year has been inconsistent, and in the last month or so, some _unusual_ behaviors have been observed.

“There will come a point where I can’t make excuses for you anymore. Your name can only take you so far, Isabelle. Pull yourself together. Follow protocol. Quit fucking around. The stakes are even higher than you might think they are, and I can’t protect you forever.”

Isabelle’s brain jumps to the whispered rumors about the research facility.

“Oh, and keep Jennifer out of it, or I’ll throw you to the wolves myself.”


	2. I'm not afraid to disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nobody just walks away. So how are_ you _going to just walk away?_
> 
> Isabelle has to come up with a plan fast, and it has to be airtight. She paces the postage-stamp of floor space in her tiny room, trying to calm herself down enough to think. She considers her options. She could just run off, but they’ll be looking for her, and they will somehow manage to find her, putting Al and anyone else they’re with in grave danger. The only way they’ll stop looking is if they believe she’s already dead.

They don’t speak during the drive back to the base. Isabelle’s stomach is in knots and she can barely keep her hands from visibly shaking as she clutches the steering wheel. As soon as they arrive, Isabelle says a quick goodbye to her aunt and makes a run for her living quarters, where she promptly vomits the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet. Ironic that the private room and bathroom are perks of being the niece of the woman who just minutes before had threatened her life.

_Nobody just walks away_. Isabelle had even said this to Al, and she knows it firsthand. Of course, having to kill her friend in the name of “operational security” had created the first crack in the veneer of her belief in the CRM. And then on the heels of Beckett’s death came Al, shattering it to pieces.

_Nobody just walks away. So how are_ you _going to just walk away?_

Isabelle has to come up with a plan fast, and it has to be airtight. She paces the postage-stamp of floor space in her tiny room, trying to calm herself down enough to think. She considers her options. She could just run off, but they’ll be looking for her, and they will somehow manage to find her, putting Al and anyone else they’re with in grave danger. The only way they’ll stop looking is if they believe she’s already dead.

She stops pacing and lays down on her bed to think. But in the battle between her anxiety and her exhaustion, the latter wins and she’s down for the count within minutes. The helicopter dream is back, except this time, she’s watching it burn from the outside, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.

Isabelle awakens feeling completely disoriented, her room dim enough to know she needs to haul ass if she’s not going to completely miss dinner. Missing meals is frowned upon in the Civic Republic, under the guise of not wasting food and promoting physical health, but Isabelle is convinced it’s more about maintaining control over its troops. There’s no need to make things worse for herself, so she’ll show up and force something down.

As she gets in line, she anxiously scans the mess hall for Elizabeth before remembering that officers have their own separate dining room. She feels every muscle in her body relax then, without even realizing how tense she’d been. Jennifer is nowhere to be found either, and Isabelle assumes she’s with Elizabeth. Thankful isn’t a strong enough word to describe how she feels about not being invited to join her aunt and her cousin.

While she’s picking at her stir fry, a woman Isabelle recognizes as a friend of Jennifer’s walks past her table and slides a folded piece of paper under her tray. She waits until she’s ready to leave to stuff it into her pocket to read when she gets back to her room.

> _Hey rebel girl,_
> 
> _She knows something's up & is trying to get info out of me. GC told her you’re behind schedule and off-route _a lot _. Not sure how she knows I’m involved. Can’t be seen with you but I’ll help you however I can. My friend is safe to send notes with… I’ve got dirt on her, too. ;-)_
> 
> _Love, love, love you._

Isabelle smiles at the end. She can’t remember her cousin ever telling her she loves her. As much as she’d rather keep the note, she rips the paper into tiny pieces and flushes it.

Back to planning. Isabelle decides her best options are (1) stuffing a walker into her fatigues and throwing it off something high, or (2) faking a fiery helicopter crash.

She thinks back to the physical she’d had when she first entered the CRM, when a nurse sat by with a clipboard recording all identifying marks – tattoos, freckles and moles, the scar on her abdomen from where her appendix had been removed. Throwing faux-Isabelle off of something, no matter how much she messes up its face first, isn’t going to work – they’ll examine the body when it’s recovered. There needs to be less of her left. So fire is definitely the way to go, and she’s going to take her chopper down with her. That way they’ll be sure to find the body and leave her alone to live her life. With Al.

Isabelle grabs her sketchbook out of its hidden spot in the bottom drawer of her dresser, safely wrapped in a pair of pajamas she never wears. Looking for a blank page, she flips past pages full of drawings she’s made, mostly in the first year after everything went to shit, mostly trying to recreate photos she’d had of herself and Jamie. Further in the book are sketches of her family, pets, the house where she grew up. All things she tries not to think about too much, lest she slide back down into the pit of depression she’s visited time and time again.

The last few pages of drawings are all of Al, made in the weeks after they met. Isabelle had struggled to capture her image before it started to fade from her mind, but she never felt like she got her quite right. Her heart leaps at the idea of being able to try again, this time with her subject close at hand. So close she can actually physically touch her. Isabelle closes her eyes, remembering what it felt like to hold her for those few fleeting moments before they went their separate ways. _You have one chance. You can’t fuck this up, Isabelle._

She tears the first blank page from her sketchbook and makes some notes as she works out her plan. The chance of a helicopter exploding on impact and burning up is far from likely, but as long as they believe she’s dead, does it really matter if they think if it was an accident or intentional? She’s going to need fuel, a lot of fuel, more than just the amount inside the tank. Which means she’ll need to commit her act of arson somewhere within walking distance of a source. The highways are peppered with abandoned cars and trucks, but a safer bet for vehicles that still have gas in them might be a parking lot. The more she soaks the helicopter, the more intense the burn, the more charred the remains will be, the less likely it is they’ll realize they don’t belong to her.

She also needs to consider the location in relation to the lakebed settlement. It needs to be far enough and in the opposite direction from the base to keep the reclamation team from flying over it, while being within a distance she’ll be able to traverse on foot in a few days. A map would be pretty damn helpful right about now.

Figuring out when to make her escape is the easy part. She’s scheduled to fly out on a mission on Sunday evening, and conveniently, the base runs on a skeleton crew at night, meaning she’s far less likely to draw attention for being completely off-route, buying her some time before they send people to look for her.

What else? Food, she’ll start stashing from the mess hall. Water? Bottled water has become scarce, but she’s got two refillable bottles and can probably find a third. Weapons? Her CRM-issued rifle is out, but she’s got a decent knife. She hopes Jenn can help her with gathering the other things she’ll need.

She pulls another page from her sketchbook.

> _Hey, you know what I was just thinking about? That one classic rock band I loved as a kid. They had that song, “Come on, baby…” and I bet you can sing the rest of that line since I made you listen to it with me at least a hundred times. Anyway, would love to take you up on that offer. Clothes. Hose. Map. Backpack._
> 
> _The time to hesitate is through (and p.s., I love you, too)!_

The note isn’t anywhere close to being indecipherable if it falls into the wrong hands, but it’s _slightly_ more subtle than her cousin’s had been. Plus, it’ll make Jenn laugh – Isabelle had really had a moment with the Doors in the ninth grade before she’d discovered Kathleen Hanna. She folds the paper into eighths and slips it into the pocket of her fatigues so it’s ready to be handed over at breakfast tomorrow.

Aunt Elizabeth’s voice rings in her ears. _Pull yourself together. Follow protocol. Quit fucking around._

Isabelle chuckles. She’ll make a show of doing all of these things… at least until Sunday.

When Isabelle gets back to her room the next afternoon, she finds a green military-issue backpack tucked behind the door, only visible once inside the room with the door closed. She doesn’t know how Jenn got into her room and she doesn’t really care. Her eyes well up as she looks through the bag. It has everything she asked for and more - a well-worn map of central Texas, a compass, a multi-tool, a pair of black jeans, a denim jacket, half a dozen protein bars, a canteen, and not just a hose for siphoning gas, but a pump as well. And a book of matches.

Isabelle tries on the jeans and _of course_ Jenn tucked a note into the pocket.

> _Remember how mad you were when they took all your shit when you first got here? There’s a huge storeroom in the basement, and guess who has a key._
> 
> _Hope these fit. More to come!_

Isabelle’s response is short.

> _It’s all perfect.  
>  You are amazing.  
>  Thank you._

Isabelle pulls the map from her backpack and spreads it out on her bed. She locates the military base and the lake that’s no longer a lake, and starts searching for places with large parking lots that might have been full when everything went to hell. Her finger lands on a strip of highway outside the city where she knows there are at least ten car dealerships. It’ll be about a twenty-mile trek from there to the settlement, which isn’t ideal considering the walking corpses she’ll encounter along the way. But she’ll make it work.

She folds the map carefully and puts it back in the bag, and then shoves it into the furthest spot under her bed. If Jennifer has access to her quarters, that means there are others out there who do, too.

It’s Thursday night. There are seventy-two hours until she makes her escape, until she can stop thinking about who might be surveilling her at any given time.

She opens her sketchbook to her favorite drawing of Al and lays down on her bed again. If all goes as planned, they’ll be together less than a week from now. Her fingertips trace the outline of the face on the paper and she’s suddenly flooded with apprehension. What if she’s read the situation completely wrong? She’s going to be showing up on Al’s doorstep with almost nothing to her name, in a community full of strangers who will probably see her as a potential threat. And when it comes down to it, she and Al are practically strangers to each other. She doesn’t even know what her name is short for! And does Al know she’s not the horrendous bitch she seemed to be for most of the time they'd spent together? 

And yet Al _had_ been following Isabelle’s movements closely enough to find her, and she had to have known what an enormous risk it was to go up to that rooftop, not to mention navigating her way through a plague-infected building to get there. But then again, why did she send Isabelle away without landing? To keep her away from the plague? Because she realized the risk involved for both of them? Or was there something else going on? Maybe Isabelle isn't as wanted as she's been thinking.

But before all of that, were those few days they spent together. Isabelle focuses her attention on that undeniable connection they’d had, that she’s only ever had with one other person. That connection that had Al still looking for her a year later, and that left Isabelle a complete mess after she had to pretend not to know her in that short radio conversation. She’s running toward that connection, and she knows she didn't imagine that.

Seventy-two hours until she's on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Title is from _I Know the End_ by Phoebe Bridgers  
> \+ The song she hints at in her note to Jennifer is _Come on Baby, Light my Fire_ by the Doors.  
> 


	3. A thousand miles from Indiana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenn comes back to her room with her after lunch. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them we’re hanging out a lot because you’re teaching me to draw or something.”
> 
> “Speaking of drawing, I have something for you.” Isabelle pulls out her sketchbook and sits down on the bed with her long legs crisscrossed, and Jenn flops down next to her. Isabelle turns to the drawing of them together as kids, tearing the page out as gently as she can. She watches her cousin’s eyes light up in recognition.
> 
> “I remember this! The picture, but that day, too."

On Friday evening Isabelle comes home to more gifts from her cousin – a Glock 17, a push dagger, and two more knives, none of them marked with the incriminating CRM insignia. And a pair of bolt cutters. She adds them to the backpack. It’s a good thing she was expected to be gone from Sunday evening until Wednesday – no one will be suspicious when she’s boarding her chopper with a bag in tow. She shoves it under her bed again and heads to the mess hall for dinner.

She’d spent her entire workday – the last day she’ll ever spend in the air, she realizes – completely distracted. Will her plan go smoothly? Will they really think she’s dead? Will she be able to survive long enough to make it to the dam? Is she going to cry when she sees Al for the first time in nearly a year? (Probably, embarrassingly.) Will Al be happy to see her? (She hopes so.) How will the others at Al’s settlement see her? Isabelle settles in for an evening of these questions continuing to wreak havoc on her brain, and they do until she falls asleep.

On Saturday she has absolutely nothing to occupy her time, so she pulls out her sketchbook and taps her pencil on the blank page while she comes up with an idea. Soon she starts to draw Jennifer and herself, standing in bathing suits in front of their grandparents’ cabin in Indiana. Isabelle is eleven and Jenn is seven. Jenn is wearing a pair of sunglasses (they'd been red) that Isabelle had passed down to her. They both have ice cream cones and they’re laughing… Isabelle can’t remember what about.

The drawing is a memory of a snapshot her grandma had taken and later given to Isabelle in a frame, but she’d remember that day even if no photo had been taken. They’d spent the afternoon with their grandpa, swimming in the lake and looking for turtles. The ice cream was mint chocolate chip. Jenn had dropped hers on the ground moments after the picture was taken and had thrown a fit no seven-year-old had any business throwing. Isabelle had complained of a stomachache, and Grandma had blamed it on her eating too fast. Later that evening she got her first period. She was _not_ excited, and she did _not_ feel like she was becoming a woman, but she did feel a little smug about her grandmother being wrong about the ice cream and giving her special treatment for the next few days.

Isabelle had always looked at that photo as a marker of the day when she stopped being carefree in that way that only little kids can be. That day doesn’t hold any special significance for Jenn, and she might not even remember it, but she’ll like the picture regardless.

She’s so focused on her work that she misses lunch, and by the time she’s finishing up it’s nearly time for dinner. As she’s putting the sketchbook back in its hiding spot, there’s a knock at her door. She opens it and her cousin pushes her way in.

“I’m here to make sure you eat dinner, because I know you didn’t eat lunch,” she says. “Put your shoes on.”

“Come right in, I guess.” Isabelle shuts the door after her. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be seen together.”

“We live on the same floor, so how can we _not_ see each other? And my mom left this morning. And anyway, damn The Man.” Jenn grins.

Isabelle rolls her eyes, but there's a smile fighting to break free on her lips. “When did you become such a rebel, Ms. Military?” she teases, referring to Jenn’s lifelong commitment to the military, first as a Marine brat, then JROTC, then enlisting right out of high school, with plans to make a career out of it.

“Since my cousin is deserting and I’m going to miss her for the rest of my life. Hey, was everything okay? The stuff yesterday?”

“I can’t believe you! You knew how much I need those weapons... it just felt like too big of an ask. Thanks to you I’ve got everything I need. It shouldn’t take me very long to get there. It’s a little less than twenty miles.”

“I know. I’m just gonna worry about you. And _geez,_ Isabelle, I guess I won’t ever know if you’re okay.”

Isabelle realizes that’s true, and it sucks, and there isn’t any way around it. Trying to make light of the situation, she replies, “How about this – if I die, I’ll come back and haunt you. No haunting will mean I’m still alive.”

“And living happily ever after with your lady.”

“Or wandering aimlessly through Texas, completely lost forever.” She’s only half-joking. It’s easy to get off course in the middle of nowhere. It only takes one storm or one herd.

“Isabelle, you’ve got a compass, a map, and weren’t you a Girl Scout as a kid? You’ll be fine. Eyes on the prize, bitch!” Jenn slaps her on the back and then practically drags her out of her room. “Let’s go. I’m hungry and I know you are, too.”

After dinner Isabelle starts another sketch for her cousin – the two of them again, but this time the way they look now.

On Sunday Isabelle is a ball of nerves from the moment she wakes up, and by the time her cousin comes by at noon, she’s already packed and repacked her bag about seven times. Again, Jenn has to force her to go to the mess hall. She’s right – Isabelle has barely eaten anything in the last few days and she needs to have the energy to pull off the biggest scam of her life tonight.

Jenn comes back to her room with her after lunch. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them we’re hanging out a lot because you’re teaching me to draw or something.”

Isabelle snickers. “Jenn, you can barely manage a stick figure.”

“That’s why you’re teaching me!”

“Speaking of drawing, I have something for you.” Isabelle pulls out her sketchbook and sits down on the bed with her long legs crisscrossed, and Jenn flops down next to her. Isabelle turns to the drawing of them together as kids, tearing the page out as gently as she can. She watches her cousin’s eyes light up in recognition.

“I remember this! The picture, but that day, too. We went to the lake with grandpa and on the way back he slipped in the mud… do you remember?” She bursts out laughing. “He said the f-word and you tattled on him when we got back. That’s why we were laughing – grandma was _so pissed_ at him.”

“I couldn’t remember! I do recall you throwing an absolute fit when you dropped your ice cream, though. Are you sure it was me that told on Grandpa? That seems more like something you would’ve done.”

Jenn shrugs. “I’m like, eighty percent sure about that. Maybe even ninety.”

“I started my first period later that day. So, by your account, my last moment of childhood was telling on Grandpa for cussing in front of us.”

“I never knew that!” Jenn hums. “Is that why you spent like, an entire week laying on the couch watching movies and crying? I couldn’t understand how someone could watch _The Wizard of Oz_ so many times.”

Isabelle grabs her pillow and hits her cousin with it. “I did not! It was three days, max. And I wasn’t crying.”

“You totally were.” Jenn pulls the pillow from Isabelle’s hands and hugs it to her chest. “You know, I have more memories of being at the cabin with you and Grandma and Grandpa than anything else. We moved around so much. I’m glad my parents sent me there every summer, and that you were there too. No matter where we were stationed, at least summer felt right.” Isabelle notices the tears shining in her cousin’s eyes.

“You gonna cry about it, Jenn?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Me too,” says Isabelle, laughing as she wipes away her own tears. The two cousins embrace.

Jenn sighs. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Me neither. But I need to.”

“I know. I don’t have to like it, though.” Jennifer sits up and dries her eyes on the sleeve of her CRM-issued sweatshirt. She nods toward the sketchbook. “What else you got in there?”

Isabelle flips to the most recent drawings. “Mostly stuff from before. I don’t really want to look at those ones right now, though.”

“Understood. Can I go ahead and guess that the ones you _are_ going to show me are of Al?” Jenn watches her cousin’s expression soften and a smile grow on her face. She hands the book to Jenn.

“They’re not perfect… obviously I was drawing her from memory, and I feel like something’s missing.”

“I think what’s missing,” Jenn replies, “are the stars in her eyes that she must get when she looks at my beautiful cousin.”

Isabelle groans. “So cheesy, Jenn!”

Jenn turns the page and laughs out loud. “ _I’m_ cheesy?!” she holds up the page and reads Isabelle’s fancy hand-lettering back to her. “ _’The prettiest thing I’ve seen since the end of everything.’_ Holy shit, Isabelle.”

Isabelle turns bright red and grabs the sketchbook from her. She jabs Jenn in the stomach with her bare foot, and Jenn falls backwards onto the bed, giggling like crazy. Isabelle joins her and they lay shoulder-to-shoulder on the narrow bed like they’re kids again. “Forgot that was in there. But I mean, it’s not a lie. She really _is_ ,” says Isabelle earnestly.

Jennifer turns her face toward her cousin’s and squeezes her hand. “Izzy, I can tell she’s perfect for you. I hope you guys are happy together for a long time.”

“Me too, Jenn. Thank you.” Isabelle sniffs. “Damn it, don’t make me cry again.”

“…and that you have, like, ten babies together.”

Isabelle’s crying turns into laughter. “Physically impossible, but I appreciate the sentiment,” she says, wiping away tears.

Jennifer takes the sketchbook from Isabelle again to look at the last few drawings. When she turns to the half-completed image of Isabelle and herself, she holds it up.

“Yes, that one is for you, too,” says Isabelle, sitting up. “Mind if I finish it now?”

She's already ripping out the page. “Sure. Give me a pencil and I’ll draw one for you, too.” Jenn draws for about a minute and then sits quietly, looking through the drawings of her cousin’s former life, while Isabelle sketches for another half an hour. A small smile plays around Isabelle’s lips as she adds a couple of finishing touches. She hands it over. Below the portrait of the two cousins she’s written, in fancy letters, _Jennifer & Isabelle: Best cousins since forever. _

“Aww. So cheesy, and I totally love it. Thank you, for both of these.” Jenn hands the sketchbook to Isabelle, already smirking. “Your turn.”

Isabelle opens it and Jenn’s drawing is a stick-person version of the childhood photo that Isabelle had recreated. Her lips twitch. “This is truly a work of art, Jenn.”

“You weren’t wrong about my artistic ability, Izz.”

“Okay, _Jennifer_.”

Smile fading on her face, Jenn asks cautiously, “What _are_ you going to do with your sketchbook?

Isabelle sighs. “That’s a good question. I kept telling myself I’d leave it exactly where I’ve been keeping it, but even though it’s a little risky I think I’m going to take it with me.”

“No,” Jenn protests, “Leave it here, or give it to me to keep. You can _not_ have that out there with you. It’s not ‘a little risky’... it’s a _huge_ risk.”

“But if they find it, it’s because they already found me anyway,” Isabelle points out, “because I’ll guard that book with my life.”

“Isabelle, don’t be stupid,” Jenn snaps at her, sounding exactly like Elizabeth, “You can’t risk your future by holding on so tightly to the past.”

Isabelle recalls a very similar conversation she had with someone last year, but in that one she was on the other end. She completely understands Al’s side of it now, but she also sees Jenn’s point. She’s still not sure what she’s going to do with the book, but she’s not going to argue with her cousin about it right now. Especially since there are only three hours until she reports.

“Okay,” she concedes. “I get it. I’ll take the drawings of Al out and, as much I hate the thought of it, I’ll detroy them. And then I’ll leave the book here.” To prove to Jenn that she’s serious she rips out the first incriminating page and starts to tear it meticulously into strips, which she will then turn into confetti. _It’s just a drawing, and you’ll see her for real in a few days,_ she tells herself.

She asks Jenn, "Can we talk about something else?"

“Sure... wanna go over your plan with me?”

Isabelle nods and goes through each step, shredding the pictures of her love while she does. Jennifer listens thoughtfully.

“It’s a great plan and I think it’ll work. I’m a little concerned about this plan to find a walker to stuff into your fatigues, though. Female, dark hair, same size or smaller than you but not much shorter – you’re freakishly tall and thin, so good luck with that combo. You’re going to be on foot, in a hurry, and in the dark. You’d better plan on taking what you can get and just soaking the shit out of it in gasoline. You have gas cans in the helicopter, right?”

Isabelle nods. “There’s always a couple of empties in there, plus since I’m supposed to be gone for a few days there will be at least another three ten-gallons that are already filled, but I do need normal gasoline to get the fire started.”

“Isn’t jet fuel like, super potent?”

“It doesn’t ignite like regular gasoline, but—”

“Thanks for the science lesson, but I’ll take your word for it,” Jenn says. “I know it’s all going to be fine. God, I cannot believe I’m helping you do this.”

“But I’m happy you are. I honestly haven’t felt like myself in a really long time. But being with you this weekend, It's easy to remember who I was. Or who I still am… but buried deep inside myself. I had to so I could survive here.”

“So the badass bitch you’ve been since everything went to hell was just for show?!” Jenn smiles at her cousin, softening. “I know the Isabelle from before is still in there, just _dying_ to break free and bake cookies and knit a sweater or something. But you’d better keep at least some of the badass around if you’re going to survive out there.”

“I couldn’t completely get rid of her if I tried! It’s been exhausting being her all the time, though." She grasps her cousin's arm dramatically. "But Jenn? Knitting is an important and incredibly underrated survival skill." 

After dinner Jenn returns to Isabelle’s room with her to check over her backpack one more time before she leaves the base, and her cousin, forever. Isabelle adds a few first aid items and extra socks and underwear, and while Jenn is filling her water bottles in the bathroom, she quickly wraps the sketchbook in a shirt and hides it in the bottom of the backpack.

At seven-thirty it’s time for Isabelle to go. She hoists the heavy bag onto her back and turns to face her cousin. They meet each other’s eyes, and Isabelle says, “I don’t want you to worry about me, Jenn. I’m going to be okay. I’ve been out there on my own before. I know how to protect myself.”

“If you were just going out on a mission, I’d expect to see you in the mess the day you were scheduled to come back, and I wouldn’t even think twice about it. It’s the not knowing that’s going to kill me, Isabelle.”

Isabelle hugs her tight. “Remember? I’m gonna haunt the shit out of you if I die. So that’s how you’ll know. Think of me and Al being disgustingly in love, raising our ten babies.” She can tell Jenn is starting to cry. “Tears twice in one day from my tough-as-nails little cousin?” she teases gently, petting her hair, holding her even tighter.

“I know what a limb you went out on for me, how far outside protocol that was, Jenn. And I know how strongly you believe in the Civic Republic’s mission. But don’t lose your humanity. Think about the future and the greater good, but remember that people’s lives _r_ _ight now_ have value and goodness, too. Try to find some happiness for yourself at some point. Fall in love, make friends, find a hobby. Maybe not drawing…” Jenn is sobbing, but still cracks up at that. “Thank you for being my cousin, and my friend, and my summer sister, Jenn.”

“We can add partner in crime to that list now,” Jenn adds. “I love you.”

“I love _you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Song title is from _Patiently_ by Rilo Kiley.  
> \+ My understanding of gas & aviation fuel flammability is quite lacking. Do not attempt at home.


	4. Freedom, with a little fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The highway is littered with cars, many that look as though they’ve been there since the world ended. Thankfully, she sees few walkers as she makes her way through the apocalyptic landscape. Using the moon as her guide, Isabelle weaves her way through the cars, watching for bodies that may spring into action once they smell or hear her. It’s incredibly quiet and still out here, especially after the incredibly stressful hour she just experienced, not to mention her anxiety that had been building all week. The endless noise inside her head finally vacates, and for the first time in a while, she feels calm.

Isabelle’s hands tremble as she goes through her pre-flight checks. There are two empty 10-gallon gas cans she’ll use to hold the siphoned gasoline. Three full of aviation fuel. Rations, drinking water. First aid kit. Flashlight. Binoculars. She straps herself into her seat and takes some deep breaths to try to calm herself down.

It’s a beautiful night. Clear sky, full of stars, a full moon. She’s only in the air for a few minutes before she’s hovering above the abandoned auto mall. As she’d hoped, many of the lots are still filled with cars. She just hopes not too many other people had the same thought of coming here for gas before her.

She lands the helicopter in the middle of the highway, senses already on high alert for any walkers nearby, who will no doubt be headed toward the sound. How had she not thought about that earlier?

Before exiting she uses the binoculars to look for lots with fences that seem to be intact. Central Texas Toyota it is. She grabs the bolt-cutters, checks her weapons, grabs the empty gas cans and siphon, and in a matter of minutes has cut through the fence and had her first two walker kills of the day – both former security guards, both male, neither of which would be able to fit in her fatigues. She leaves them.

She quickly realizes that, while the vehicles on the lot haven’t been drained, they’d been left with only a gallon or so in each, some of which has evaporated. It takes her considerably longer than she’d planned to siphon enough gas to fill the two ten-gallon containers.

Slowed by the heavy containers, she makes her way as quickly as she can back to the helicopter and is horrified to see the crowd of the dead that’s already headed toward it. Headed toward her. She has to put the gas down so she can kill the three closest to her before she can hoist the containers into the chopper. She kills two more that get close, and out of the five dead, she picks the one who had been a brunette woman to pose as herself.

Isabelle has killed hundreds of walkers in the last few years, but usually with a firearm or her bayonet. She definitely hasn’t had to be this close to them, and the smell of rotting flesh emanates from the corpse as she drags it through the rear entrance of the helicopter. Retching, she slams the door and climbs into the cockpit, willing herself not to puke.

The dead, dozens of them, are on the verge of reaching the helicopter, and Isabelle realizes she’s going to have to relocate before she can get any further in her escape plan. As she prepares for takeoff, she feels the aircraft rocking a little as the walkers attempt to find their way in. She’s dealt with some sketchy situations in the last three years, but never one where she questioned if her helicopter would make it into the air with the weight of the dead hanging onto the landing skids.

Despite the extra resistance, which disappears mere feet off the ground, she’s soon on her way and immediately starts to look for a less populated place to land. The moon is bright, but the ground is pitch black and she has to use her searchlight to find a spot. She ends up landing in the parking lot of what used to be a baseball stadium, although from flying over she can tell no one will ever be playing a game there again – it’s completely burnt out, nothing but the exterior walls remaining now. Seems like an appropriate spot, considering what’s in store for her helicopter.

There’s no one around, living or dead, but thanks to the noise and the searchlight, the dead are no doubt already headed toward her, With the extra time her gas run had taken, and with the extra stop, there’s not a moment to waste. Even on a skeleton crew, someone at ground control will be noticing sooner rather than later that she’s landed in the middle of nowhere instead of being in the air, headed toward her destination.

Isabelle quickly sheds her fatigues and pulls on the jeans Jenn had found for her. Her black long-sleeve shirt bears no markings of the CRM, so she’ll leave that on. She shoves the binoculars, the first aid kit, and as many additional supplies as will fit into her backpack, trades out the pistol issued to her by the CRM for her Glock, holsters her two knives, and shoves the push dagger into her boot.

On to the worst part - dealing with the body. She turns on the flashlight to illuminate the back of the helicopter enough to see what she’s doing but quickly positions it so it’s shining against the wall – she doesn’t want to see the walker’s decay in _that_ much detail. She cuts through its pants with a knife and tries to touch the loose skin of its legs as little as possible. She yanks her fatigues up over the body, who, despite shriveling since it had died the first time, is still larger than Isabelle. She cuts the waistband and makes it work. The jacket is easier. She adds her headphones and drags the body up to the front.

 _Almost over. It’s almost over,_ she repeats to herself, dry heaving thanks to the smell and sensation of the woman’s body, slack and shifting around in her arms, more like a disgusting giant ragdoll than something that was once actually human. See? It’s a good thing she hardly ate today. She buckles it securely into her seat.

Isabelle tosses her backpack onto the ground and hauls two of the gas cans out carefully. Donning a pair of gloves to keep the highly flammable liquid off her hands, she uses the three remaining to drench the interior of the aircraft, paying special attention to making sure every inch of the walker is soaked. The fewer remains of fake Isabelle there are, the safer the real Isabelle will be.

She splashes the remaining gas on the exterior of the chopper and uses the gasoline to create a surefire pathway for the flames to travel straight to the cockpit. She picks up her bag, removes the gloves, and lights a match. Time seems to slow nearly to the point of stopping as she drops the match and watches the gas ignite into flames.

And then she runs.

Isabelle quickly assesses the situation. The helicopter is up in flames, but she has no idea if it’s going to explode, and if it does, how far away from it she needs to be, not to mention what else it might set on fire. And then there’s the issue of the recovery team that will no doubt be headed toward the wreck fairly soon. She heads for the highway at the south end of the stadium, figuring she can follow it east for at least a little while until she gets a chance to look at her map and reassess.

The highway is littered with cars, many that look as though they’ve been there since the world ended. Thankfully, she sees few walkers as she makes her way through the apocalyptic landscape. Using the moon as her guide, she weaves her way through the cars, watching for bodies that may spring into action once they smell or hear her. It’s incredibly quiet and still out here, especially after the incredibly stressful hour she just experienced, not to mention her anxiety that had been building all week. The endless noise inside her head finally vacates, and for the first time in a while, she feels calm.

After a couple hours of walking, Isabelle’s sense of calm turns to exhaustion and hunger, and she finds a car that’s free of the dead and climbs into the back seat. She devours a protein bar, guzzles half a bottle of water, and tries to get comfortable. She sets an alarm on her wristwatch for three hours and passes out almost immediately.

She wakes up feeling disoriented in her dark, unfamiliar surroundings, but a little less tired. She sits up enough to peer out of the dusty window into the night. All is as she left it – no walkers, no CRM soldiers searching for a defector. She pulls her map out of her backpack, along with a pear she’d smuggled out of the mess hall the day before. As she eats, she finds the stadium and estimates her current location.

“Shit,” she says under her breath, realizing that her last-minute change in venue has added nearly ten miles to her trip. Even with the ground she covered before her nap, she’s still about twenty-five miles away. But as long as the early fall weather is mild, and the walkers stay away, and the military believes her dead, things should be fine.

She’s already been walking for an hour or so by the time the sun comes up. The temperature is perfect, and the sun’s rays are softened by a layer of wispy clouds. Except for the abandoned cars and the occasional walker, it feels like the old world.

Mid-morning, she passes by an apple orchard, still producing heavily even though it’s been abandoned. Her right foot has been hurting for the last mile, so she picks a few apples and settles under a tree. Upon removing her boot, she discovers two sizeable blisters. She sighs as she digs around in her backpack for the first aid kit. She bandages her foot and eases her boot back on, lest she find herself needing to defend herself against the dead with one bare foot.

Crunching into a Ginger Gold, Isabelle spreads her map out on the ground in front of her. If her estimate is right, she’s already traveled about thirteen miles this morning. She curses her foot. If it weren’t for the blisters, she’d probably be able to make the rest of the trip today. She leans back against the tree and tries to get comfortable. If she has to take a break, it might as well be in a beautiful spot – and one with snacks.

After about an hour, Isabelle is aching to get back on the road. She tosses a few more apples into her backpack and checks her map one more time, even though she’s committed her altered route to memory. And then she’s on her way again, albeit at a slower pace in an attempt to keep her foot from worsening.

The blisters are the beginning of the end of Isabelle’s good luck. As she walks, she notices the thin layer of clouds thickening, and by two o’clock it’s starting to sprinkle – a sprinkle that she can tell is going to quickly escalate to steady rain, and then to pouring. She picks up her pace a little, looking for a farmhouse or barn to wait it out. The first house’s back door is wide open. It smells overwhelmingly of death and the living room carpet is soaked with dried blood, so she moves on.

The second house is untouched. She breaks a pane of glass in the front door and lets herself in, checking every room carefully. No bodies, no walkers, no human remains. She goes into the bedroom at the top of the stairs and takes off her boots, bringing instant relief to her aching foot. The bedroom had belonged to a girl that, judging by the décor, Isabelle guesses was about ten. She gets up again to check out her bookshelf. She smiles to herself, thinking of Jenn, as she pulls a copy of _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ from the shelf.

Isabelle opens a window to let some fresh air into the stuffy room, and settles back onto the bed with the book, the rain tapping on the roof. It’s probably going to keep falling for a while, so what else is she going to do with herself? It’s a children’s novel and she’s a fast reader. She’ll probably even finish it before the storm ends, she thinks. She digs into Dorothy’s adventures, surprised at how familiar the illustrations and characters still feel to her.

By the time the sun sets, the book has already been laying face-down with Isabelle fast asleep next to it for a couple of hours.

She’s awakened by the sound of a door opening and then closing, followed by at least three adult male voices. She freezes. She’s well-armed, but her odds still aren’t great because the men probably are, too. And she’s stuck on the second floor with exactly one exit. She eases her feet off the bed and into her boots, thankful for the thick carpet covering the floor, softening her movements. It’s not a large house, and the door to the bedroom is wide open. She listens as their banter turns into a disproportionally large fight over a bottle of vodka one of them has unearthed.

She’s debating what to do when she hears one of them tell the others he’s going upstairs. _Shit_. She’s got fifteen, maybe twenty seconds. Isabelle shoves her Glock into the back of her jeans, creeps over to the window and looks down. There’s a small, covered patio on the back of the house, and by some miracle, the roof of it is right below her. She vaults over the windowsill, nearly sliding off the roof as her boots hit the slick surface of the metal roof. She hangs on and manages to get herself turned around, sitting flush against the back of the house, praying that the intruder doesn’t notice the open window. Ditto the rumpled bed, open book, and her backpack.

 _Her backpack._ She can make do without the water, the food, her few items of extra clothing… but her sketchbook is in there, too. The drawings that are so precious to her, she couldn’t make herself leave them behind. The drawings that are also realistic enough that if they somehow end up back into the hands of the CRM, they’ll identify her immediately.

Someone enters the bedroom, pulling drawers from the desk and dresser and letting them fall to the floor, opening the closet and slamming it shut, finding nothing of interest until he trips over her bag. The bedsprings creak and she hears a chuckle, followed by the distinctive _crunch_ of someone biting into an apple. Isabelle hugs her knees to her chest, and the rain streaming down her face becomes salty with tears. If these guys find her there’s a good chance that they’ll kill her, or do worse, and then kill her after that. And she’s lost her backpack and the sketchbook, her foot is killing her, she’s stuck on a roof in the rain, and she’s so close to reaching Al, but right now she feels light years away. And all Isabelle wants in this moment is to be warm and dry and falling asleep in her arms. _One more day, one more day, one more day,_ she repeats to herself. _We’ll be together in one more day._

Isabelle isn’t sure how long she’s been on the roof. Long enough for the rain to stop. At one point she heard the guy in the bedroom stretch out on the bed and shortly after that he started to snore. The guys downstairs continued to argue. At first there were bouts of laughter mixed in, but eventually it started getting louder and angrier. _Guess they decided to share that vodka, after all._

Suddenly a gunshot rings out, followed by maniacal laughter from one of the men, the other screaming at him, and Mr. Upstairs waking and yelling, “Jesus, shut the fuck up!”

She needs to get away from there before the dead are drawn in by the noise. She checks her weapons, double knots her boot laces, and turns around, trying to slide down the slick metal roof feet first, hoping she can catch her feet on the rain gutter. She’s successful, until the gutter gives way, sending her flying off the roof, down into the overgrown yard. She scrambles to her feet, shocked and thankful that she’s still able to do so after the eight-foot drop. Her blisters feel awful, but she’s more concerned about the searing pain on her torso. Stumbling away from the house into the trees, she presses her hand up against the source of pain and gasps when she pulls it away covered in blood.

There’s literally nothing Isabelle can do about it right now. Her first aid kit was in her bag, which is now in the hands of those douchebags. She doesn’t have a bandana, or an extra shirt… nothing to use to help stop the bleeding. She puts pressure on the wound with the palm of her hand as she limps her way through the trees back to the road.

_5 miles and a world away_

It’s Monday night, which means Althea is on watch from eight o' clock until two o'clock. A little boring, but far from the worst thing she could be doing, considering she’s paired up with Dwight. After so many months of constant togetherness doing recon for Ginny, Al feels like she barely ever sees her best friend. She hasn’t even had the opportunity to roll her eyes at the words “Beer Lady” in at least two days.

They’ve been in Morgan’s burgeoning lakebed settlement (or “the dam settlement” as Al and Dwight have been calling it… Morgan doesn’t get why it’s funny) for nearly four months now, and it’s just starting to feel like home to Al. There’s a good-sized group of people at this point, including a few of Althea’s friends. All the residents have been working hard to get everyone housed and fed, and there’s a collective energy emerging that Al likes a lot more than she would’ve expected. It’s like their “take what you need, leave what you don’t, help how you can” boxes, but on a larger scale.

The landscape is still pretty stark, and almost everything is the same grayish-brown color – the dirt, the brush, the rocks, as if the lake that covered this land for so many years had sucked out all the color. That’s quickly changing, though, now that some of their crops are starting to grow in the fertile soil. And since they hit a hardware store on their last supply run, Alicia, Charlie, and Dakota have been on a painting spree, livening up some of the structures springing up around the village.

Al has to admit that Morgan’s idea to build a settlement there was a stroke of genius - there hasn’t been a single run-in with Virginia or her Rangers. In fact, they’re exactly as invisible as Morgan had hoped they’d be.

Which is why, as they’re walking the perimeter, about to start what feels like their fiftieth round of “fuck, marry, kill,” the sight of someone approaching catches them both off guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from _Gypsy_ by Fleetwood Mac.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts if you feel like leaving them!


	5. And there you are, at the edge of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sheathes her own weapon but keeps her hand close, ready to grab it again if necessary. As she approaches the person, her senses are on high alert, and yet she still maintains her composure perfectly. All those years as a journalist in some of the most unstable regions of the world have trained her well. And yet nothing could have prepared her for this.
> 
> It’s a cloudy night, and the person remains shrouded in darkness even as Al gets within a few feet. She crouches down to speak to them right as they look up at her. Their eyes lock, and Al suddenly forgets how to breathe.

They stop in their tracks, staring at the stranger across the barren stretch of land. The person approaching is tall and thin, but the darkness conceals any other identifying characteristics. They’re moving slowly, possibly limping, but, thanks to her first encounter with Alicia, Al has learned to remain wary of people who appear to be injured. Dwight pulls his gun from its holster, and Al reaches for her trench spike and checks to make sure her rifle is easily accessible.

They watch, ready for anything, as the person stops about thirty feet away and tosses a gun and a couple of knives to the ground.

“Take five steps from your weapons and get down on your knees. Keep your hands where we can see them. We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if we have to,” Dwight orders them.

Although he’s usually very mild-mannered, Al knows that when it comes to strangers, Dwight’s people skills leave much to be desired. She likes new people more than he does anyway, so she takes charge. “I’ll go talk to them,” she says to Dwight quietly, not taking her eyes off the outsider, “You stay here. Be ready to back me up.”

She sheathes her own weapon but keeps her hand close, ready to grab it again if necessary. As she approaches the person, her senses are on high alert, and yet she still maintains her composure perfectly. All those years as a journalist in some of the most unstable regions of the world have trained her well.

And yet nothing could have prepared her for this.

It’s a cloudy night, and the person remains shrouded in darkness even as Al gets within a few feet. She crouches down to speak to them right as they look up at her. Their eyes lock, and Al suddenly forgets how to breathe.

Even though her hair is shorter, and she’s traded the bite-proof suit for a jean jacket, and Al hasn’t seen her in a year, she recognizes her immediately.

“Isabelle.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. Tears spring to her eyes and spill over as she breaks into a huge smile, the love she feels for the other woman radiating from her entire face.

“ _Al._ ” The exhaustion on Isabelle’s face transforms into relief and elation and changes again as her tears start to fall. Al is mystified that anyone can ugly-cry so beautifully.

“How did you—" Al starts to ask, realizing quickly that she couldn’t possibly care less about the answer at this time, and anyway Isabelle is throwing her arms around her neck, nearly knocking her over. They embrace like they don’t plan on ever letting go again. Al tilts her face to rest her forehead against Isabelle’s, their lips only inches apart and getting closer...

Unfortunately, from where Dwight stands, all of this looks like the stranger is trying to take Althea down, and he shouts and runs over, prepared to do whatever he needs to in order to keep his friend safe. Before Al even realizes what’s happening, his hands are ripping Isabelle from her and tackling her to the ground. Isabelle yelps in pain.

“Goddammit, Dwight, let go!” Al grabs Dwight by his jacket and yanks him off. “It’s _her.”_

Al helps Isabelle to her feet and puts an arm protectively around her waist. Isabelle recoils from Al’s hand on her side, and Al quickly pulls her hand away, realizing it’s wet with blood.

“It’s not a bite.” Isabelle says quickly, wanting to quell the worry in Al’s eyes. “I cut myself, and it’s been bleeding on and off for hours now.” She clings to Al to keep herself on her feet. She’d already been in a lot of pain and getting attacked by Dwight has made everything just that much worse.

Suddenly, a flicker of recognition hits Dwight’s face. “Holy shit, Al, is this B—”

“Isabelle,” Al cuts in. “This is Isabelle.” She’ll tell her about Dwight’s stupid nickname for her eventually, but this is absolutely not the time.

She turns back to Isabelle. She can read on her face just how much she physically hurts, and how hard she’s trying to conceal it. “What happened to you out there?” she murmurs, running a hand over Isabelle’s disheveled hair, letting it linger on her cheek.

She sighs. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Later,” Al replies, pressing her lips to Isabelle’s forehead, “Can you walk? Sorry… that’s a dumb question.”

Isabelle winces as she tries to put pressure on her right foot. Al immediately catches Isabelle’s hand in hers and pulls her arm around her shoulders so she can help support her.

“Okay. Put all your weight on me. I’m gonna take you home, to my home… which is currently a tent.”

Embarrassed about attacking an already-injured “Beer Lady,” Dwight collects Isabelle’s weapons and follows them. “Al, take her to my place.” She starts to protest, but he says to her, voice filled with earnestness, “I’m serious. I’ll use your tent and you take my house. For as long as you want.”

He clears his throat and addresses Isabelle. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s a little more comfortable than Al’s digs. I’m sorry for attacking you. She’s like my sister, so I might be a little overprotective.” Sensing Althea’s eyeroll, he adds, “Even though I know she can handle her shit.”

Isabelle gives a tired laugh. “I know _all_ about that,” she replies. Together they make their way through darkness toward the village, barely visible except for the faint light leaking from a few windows.

They pass through the gate and Dwight trots off to find a replacement to finish Al’s watch duty with him, and Al lets herself and Isabelle into his rustic little house. Dwight’s house is a former storefront that he’s rebuilt with the hopes that Sherry will find her way back to him yet again. Al has spent countless hours here with Dwight, playing cards, talking shit, and drinking whatever one of them has managed to scavenge that week. Before Virginia split up their group, Al and Dwight had barely spoken to each other, but since the Gulch their friendship has been one of the only things keeping her from completely falling apart.

She helps Isabelle sit down on one of the chairs at Dwight’s tiny kitchen table and kneels to unlace her boots for her. As she moves to remove one of them, she feels Isabelle’s hand on her shoulder. “Al. It’s okay. It’s gonna hurt. I’ll take care of it.” Their eyes meet and they smile nervously at each other. Althea nods and stands, quickly turning away before Isabelle sees the outpouring of emotion about to take over her face again, as if she hadn’t already seen that from the moment their eyes met tonight.

She lights a fire in the woodstove and sets Dwight’s cast iron kettle on it. Then she finds a small washtub and fills it partway with water. She sets it on the kitchen table and hunts down his useless collection of first aid supplies and a couple of kitchen towels.

Isabelle sucks air in through her teeth and winces as she removes her right boot. There are two patches of brownish-red blood that have soaked through her sock. “I’m sorry, this is so gross,” she says to Al.

“Isabelle, I’ve dealt with worse injuries. It’s really okay. And you’re here, so that’s… _way_ better than okay.” She swipes her hair out of her eyes and takes a deep breath. _Focus on her injuries, and don’t fall apart,_ she tells herself.

“We need to check out that wound on your side. Can I help you?” Isabelle nods, and Al gently helps her to ease out of her jacket. One side is soaked through. Not wanting to worry her even more, Al folds it so the bloody part is concealed before setting it down. As Al helps her pull her long-sleeve shirt it off over her head she jokes, “Well, this isn’t exactly how I’d imagined the first time I did _this_ to go.” Their eyes meet and they both laugh awkwardly.

“I think this means we’re entitled to a do-over, don’t you?” Isabelle says, holding Al’s gaze until Al blushes and looks away, busying herself ripping one of the towels into quarters. Isabelle slowly lifts her tank top and folds up the hem, exposing the wound.

Al crouches down next to Isabelle, trying to keep her expression neutral as she examines the carnage. From what she can tell through the blood and the swelling, the cut is about six inches long, and deeper than she was hoping it would be. At least it seems to have stopped actively bleeding. “How did you get this?” she asks her softly, She dips one of the towel quarters into the water and starts washing blood from the surrounding skin.

“I fell off a roof… _slid_ off it, really. I guess there was a jagged edge on the rain gutter.” She blinks back tears as Al gets closer to the wound.

Al looks up at her, concerned. “Metal?”

“I got a tetanus booster a few years ago, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“That’s good, at least. After we get you cleaned up, I’ll see if I can find some antibiotics to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” Al folds another towel and has Isabelle hold it below the wound. “I’m going to try to flush it out a little now,” she says. She uses a cup to pour water over it until it runs clear and pats the area dry. She can tell by Isabelle’s erratic breathing that it’s hurting her, but there’s not much she can do about it. “I’m really sorry this is hurting so much.”

“I think you’re a lot gentler than I’d be. How’s it look?” asks Isabelle. She tries to twist around to see it but stops when it feels like she’s splitting in two. She sucks in her breath. “ _That_ was a mistake.”

“Well, I’m not a nurse, but I’ve had first aid training and I’ve actually used it a lot… and my very unprofessional opinion is that you don’t need stitches. Dwight has basically nothing in his first aid kit, but I have butterfly strips and some other stuff in my tent… I can run over there really quick. Do you want me to help you with your foot before I go?”

Isabelle smiles at her apologetically. “Would you? I’m worried if I bend over that much, my side is going to start bleeding again.”

“No problem. Oh, wait.” Al removes her jacket and unbuttons her plaid flannel shirt, leaving herself in her t-shirt. “Here, she says, handing her flannel to Isabelle, "You can wear this, because I’m pretty sure you don’t want to keep wearing _that._ ”

Isabelle gives her a grateful look and starts to pull off her ruined tank top. As she does, Al abruptly picks up the washtub and hightails it for the back door.” I’m gonna go dump this,” she says over her shoulder.

In all the times Althea thought about being reunited with Isabelle, she never anticipated being this anxious around her. But she also hadn’t anticipated one of them being injured and in need of care… it completely changes the dynamic between two people, and she’s not quite sure how to adjust.

She chucks the water out into the dirt patch behind the house and stands in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the cool air, willing herself to calm down.

“It’s okay, Al… I’ve got a shirt on now, you can come back inside,” teases Isabelle.

And again, with the blushing! It’s embarrassing. She hopes the dim lamplight conceals it at least a little. Smiling sheepishly but still avoiding eye contact, Al puts some more water in the tub and brings it over to Isabelle and sets it on the floor. She sits next to it, and almost immediately feels Isabelle’s hand brush against her forehead, raking her fingers through her hair. Al unintentionally lets out a blissful sigh at her gentle touch and looks up at her. Isabelle smiles wistfully. “I’m sorry this is how I showed up, broken and filthy, covered in blood. Not exactly the sweet reunion I was hoping for.”

Al takes Isabelle’s other hand in her own. “You’re here, and that is the only thing that could possibly matter to me. I mean, I’d rather you not be in pain,” she adds hastily, “I just mean—”

Isabelle squeezes her hand. “I get it. But I’ll heal, and after that? I’ll still be here,” says Isabelle, trying and failing to conceal a yawn.

Al jumps back in action, cleaning the wounds on Isabelle’s foot, far past the point of just being blisters at this point. “I have no idea how you were able to walk so far with your foot like this.”

Isabelle smiles at Al as she winces through the pain. “Motivation is a crazy thing. I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you for another night… and I actually took my boot off for a couple miles.” She smiles to herself. “Do you remember what the first words you ever said to me were?”

“Have you seen my boot?” Al says, and they both laugh, and it feels so good. Not just to be with Isabelle, but also to not be constantly wondering if she’s okay, if she’ll ever see her again.

Al stops, and just stares at Isabelle in adoration. She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re here. And I’m sorry about how many times you’re gonna hear me say that.” Al pats Isabelle’s leg and stands. She pours her a glass of water. “I know you need that… are you hungry?” Before receiving an answer she tosses her an apple and sets down a bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “You might want that, too.”

“I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and that ibuprofen is looking _really_ good. Thanks.”

Althea takes her hand. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes at the most, okay? Try not to move around too much,” she adds, internally kicking herself for what a smartass thing to say was, but, to her relief, it doesn’t seem to faze Isabelle at all. _She had to have been expecting that from me,_ she thinks as she carefully latches the door behind her. She exhales deeply as she steps out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _I'm From Nowhere_ by Neko Case.
> 
> Finally, they're reunited!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Something we're both dreaming of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We met after the plane crash,” says Al. 
> 
> “When you disappeared for three days.” Morgan chuckles to himself. “I remember thinking when we found you, I’ve never seen Al smile so big before.”
> 
> Al feels the muscles around her mouth twitch. She keeps a diligent eye on the rock she’s kicking along the path so she doesn’t have to look at Morgan.
> 
> “Just like you’re about to right now,” he points out.
> 
> She laughs, and lifts her head, smiling like crazy.

As ecstatic as Althea is about her reunion with Isabelle, it’s almost a relief to be out of her presence for a moment. She’s at a loss for what to say, how to act around this woman about whom she’s created a mythology, filling in the countless blanks about her in her mind with her own imagination. And if she’s completely honest with herself, the lines may have blurred a little in the year since they met. Have some of her memories become embellished over the months? That moment by the campfire, when Al so clearly felt like she was gazing into the eyes of her soulmate, was that really as mutual as she remembers? Maybe Isabelle isn’t as much running _to her_ as she is running _from_ the group she’d been with… maybe Al seems like a safe stop for her while she figures out where to go next. She’s pretty sure the depth of the feelings she has for Isabelle goes both ways, but what if she’s wrong? Al can only know how many times she lulled herself to sleep thinking about Isabelle; she has no way of knowing if Isabelle was doing the same.

She’s saved from her downward thought spiral by the sound of footsteps in the dirt behind her. It’s got to be after midnight, but here’s Morgan in his cowboy hat, weird ax-staff hybrid in hand, hunting her down. “Al, what’s happening? You were on watch and I heard there was an incident of some kind,” he probes in his easy Southern cadence. He falls in step with her, and she’s immediately breathing easier. Despite his newfound taste for vengeance and his yeehaw makeover, Morgan still exudes the same sense of calm and humility that had made it possible for her to open up to him, to trust him.

“Yeah, there was. But everything’s okay. Much better than okay, actually...” She hesitates. “Morgan, do you remember that conversation we had about someone I was looking for, that I care about?” She pauses, waits for the sign of recognition that quickly appears on his face. “Well, she’s sitting in Dwight’s house right now.”

“Sherry?!” he asks, the recognition transforming into utter confusion.

Al bursts out laughing. “Oh god. No. _No!_ Her name is Isabelle. We, uh, met after the plane crash.” By _met,_ she of course means they tried to kill each other and then fell in love, but Morgan doesn’t need to know all of that.

“When you disappeared for three days.” Morgan chuckles to himself. “I remember thinking, when we found you, I’ve never seen Al smile so big before.”

Al feels the muscles around her mouth twitch. She keeps a diligent eye on the rock she’s kicking along the path so she doesn’t have to look at Morgan.

“Just like you’re about to right now,” he points out.

She laughs, and lifts her head, smiling like crazy. “She just kind of showed up tonight. I don’t know the details yet, but I’m pretty sure she ran away from the organization she was with.”

Morgan’s face grows concerned. “Al, do you think you might be putting the security of our community at risk?”

Al honestly hadn’t considered this. “I… don’t know. But she’s already here, and even if I sent her away, if they were tracking her, they know about us now. At least we know she’s not with Ginny,” she offers, thinking of Virginia’s fixation on the helicopter Al had mentioned to her.

“I’m going to trust your judgement on this one. But please, for now—keep a close eye on her.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Al decides not to remind him that Isabelle is currently alone at Dwight’s. “Morgan, she’s got some injuries… I’m going to my tent right now to get some supplies, but do you have any antibiotics you’d be willing to share?”

“I do. I’ll go get them now and meet you back at your tent.”

Inside, Al switches on her LED lantern and shoves the essentials into her rucksack. She tries to straighten up the space a little for Dwight, and at the last minute, grabs her two favorite pillows off her cot. She’s got four, and Dwight doesn’t need _all_ of them.

As she’s zipping it back up, Morgan returns. He’s traded his staff for Rachel’s baby girl, also named Morgan. She’s wide awake and as she sees Al her eyes light up. “She was screaming her head off and Rachel needed a break. She’s fine now… I think she really just wanted to come say hi to you.”

"Well, besides Rachel, she likes me best, so that makes sense," says Al with a smirk. Morgan – the baby one – is the _other_ love of Althea’s life, and she's right - it’s completely mutual. The squirmy six-month-old reaches out for Al, and Morgan hands her over, taking the pillows under his arm. Al peppers her tiny face and head with kisses and she smiles and babbles at her in return, alleviating ninety percent of Al’s anxiety for the two minutes it takes to walk back to the house.

At Dwight’s door she trades the baby for the pillows and the invaluable bottle of medicine.

“Thank you so much. For the baby _and_ the antibiotics – I’ll replace them next time I’m on a run… the drugs, not the baby.”

Morgan gives her a courtesy laugh. “You’re very welcome. I hope Isabelle is okay… reach out if you need anything else, Althea, and please let me know what you find out. If we have any potential security issues, I need to know about them.”

Al assures him she will, and gives the little one just one more kiss before she goes inside.

Isabelle is in the same spot that she was when Al left her, resting her head on her folded arms on the table, and Al feels a little guilty for staying away a moment longer than necessary. Isabelle smiles wearily at her when she comes in, and Al’s heart leaps in her chest when she realizes she gets to see that smile again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. She beams back at her and holds up the pillows, tossing them across the room onto the bed. “There’s no way we’re using Dwight’s… I know how much he drools in his sleep.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” says Isabelle with a tired laugh, forcing herself to sit up. She yawns again. “Alright, Al… please fix me before I fall asleep in this chair.”

“I’m sorry that I left you for more than a couple of minutes, but I ran into my friend Morgan and he had antibiotics for you.” She sets them down on the table and gets to work bandaging Isabelle’s injuries, trying to focus on what she’s doing, but she’s getting increasingly uneasy about the sleeping situation.

On one hand, there’s only one bed. but on the other, there’s that uncertainty about the feelings being mutual that she was worrying about earlier, and what if Isabelle doesn’t consider them to be on the bed-sharing level with each other? But then she also just really wants to be close to her since they haven’t seen each other in so long, but again, they haven’t established that kind of familiarity with each other yet, and maybe making things even weirder is that Al has spent the last year fantasizing about being intimate with her in every way possible, but Isabelle doesn’t know that, so that really only makes things weird for herself, right?

The irony, Al realizes, is that if Isabelle had made it to the settlement in better shape, they probably would’ve been in bed together within thirty minutes of her arrival, doing a lot more than just sleeping, and none of this would’ve even occurred to her. Yeah, she is _definitely_ overthinking things. And yet she’s still not sure about the bed.

She secures the last piece of medical tape on Isabelle’s foot and stands up. “Good as new?” she asks.

She holds her hands out and Isabelle takes them, allowing her to help her to her feet. Isabelle rests her cheek against Al’s as their arms encircle each other. “Pretty much perfect now,” she says, just barely brushing Al’s ear with her lips as she speaks, giving Al the shivers – the good kind – down her spine. “I’m just so tired. I feel like I could sleep for an entire week.”

Al turns her face a couple of inches and presses her lips to Isabelle’s cheek. “You can sleep for a month if that’s what you need. I’d just sit by your side, holding your hand, the whole time.” She makes sure Isabelle is steady on her feet before letting go of her to dig through her bag.

“It gets pretty chilly in here at night,” she says, handing Isabelle a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. “One more thing I figured you’d want…” She pulls a brand-new toothbrush, scavenged on her and Dwight’s last supply run, out of her bag and hands it to her.

“I have nothing with me, so yes. This is desperately needed.”

A few minutes later they’re both in pajamas, sitting on the back steps brushing their teeth. Isabelle rinses her mouth, spits over the side of the steps, and sighs. “I feel a hundred times better now. Thank you so much, Al.”

Al spits out her own rinse water over the other side of the stairs and takes Isabelle’s hand. “It’s no problem. It’s just a toothbrush.”

“True, but tonight I showed up, unannounced, with absolutely nothing, _covered in blood_ , and you didn’t bat an eyelash. You took care of my injuries and found me antibiotics. I’m wearing your clothes. And _then_ on top of all that, you gave me a toothbrush.” She turns her face toward hers. “So, thank you. For all of that.”

“You have to know, I would’ve done literally anything for us to be together, Isabelle.” That’s a little more straightforward than Al is comfortable with, but it’s the truth.

Looking into her eyes, Isabelle says quietly, “I do know.”

Al has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her entire life. Leaning in toward her, she puts her hand lightly on Isabelle’s upper back, but when she feels her shivering – the bad kind – she changes course. Rubbing her palms up and down Isabelle’s upper arms to warm her up, she says, “Let’s go back inside.”

She helps Isabelle up the steps, into the house, and over to the bed. Isabelle sits on the edge and watches, amused, as Al lingers over getting her more water and setting it and the ibuprofen on the ancient chair that serves as a bedside table. She futzes around with the woodstove, puts away some things that Dwight had left out earlier, and checks the doors even though no one in the settlement usually even bothers with locks.

Sensing her uncertainty over the sleeping situation, Isabelle asks pointedly, “Al, which side of the bed do you want?”

Al grins, grateful to the other woman for relieving her of her internal debate. “The side that’s right next to you.”

Isabelle looks a little smug as she climbs into bed. She chooses a pillow and tries to get comfortable while Al turns off the gas lamps and blows out all the candles except one, which she carefully sets down on the chair by the bed.

Isabelle gazes up at her in the flickering candlelight and Al is struck by her beauty - the contrast of her dark hair with her pale skin, the green and gold flecks in her eyes practically glowing in the warm lighting, her full lips that she’s just dying to kiss. This woman called _her_ the prettiest thing she’s seen since the end of everything? _Funny how she came from a place that has helicopters but no mirrors,_ Al thinks, not for the first time.

“Coming to bed?” murmurs Isabelle.

As she climbs over her to get to the free side of the bed, Al thinks she detects a hint of a laugh as Isabelle adds, “I guess I could’ve moved over for you… sorry.” Al hums in agreement and slides under the covers, and Isabelle rolls over, wincing in pain as she accidentally puts pressure on the wound on her side.

“You okay?” Al asks, concerned, as Isabelle settles down again, now facing Al, their bodies about six inches apart. Al hesitantly lays her hand on Isabelle’s waist before moving it to her shoulder, and then her arm, and then Isabelle gently captures it with her own.

“I’m fine, Al… But are _you_ okay?”

Al chuckles and averts her eyes, embarrassed at how transparent her weirdness has been. “Isabelle; I don’t even know how to answer that. She brings the other woman’s hand to her lips and kisses her fingertips.

Isabelle dips her head down, forcing her way into Al’s sightline even though Al is trying her hardest to avoid her eyes. Isabelle wins. Her expression is kind, but serious, and she gives Al a small smile. “Try.”

Al tries to collect her thoughts. “I’m so, so happy that you’re here. I dreamed of this nonstop pretty much the entire time we were apart. But I only know what _I’m_ feeling, what I’ve been feeling for you all this time. And so I don’t quite know how to act around you. I’m worried that I’m going to scare you off or something, and ruin everything.” She gazes apprehensively at the other woman, unsure what she’ll say.

Isabelle’s expression softens, and she strokes Al’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I really get this. I constantly had to fight off how presumptuous I was feeling about showing up here. You’re not going to ruin anything, Al… nothing could make me happier than to know that you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you.”

Al lets go of the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding in. She brings her hand back to Isabelle’s waist, moving herself towards her until their bodies are so close that she can feel the heat radiating off of hers. “I’ve been worrying that maybe things weren’t quite as mutual as I thought I remembered. That maybe it was all a story I told myself to convince myself to keep going.”

Isabelle’s hand lands very deliberately on Al’s hip, pulling her that extra couple of millimeters toward her so that their bodies are physically touching. “Al, I left my life to be with you,” Isabelle says simply.

Althea’s heart leaps as she brings her hand to Isabelle’s face, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting her fingertips linger, tracing the shell of her ear.

They hold each other’s gaze and share the most delicious moment of anticipation before their lips finally meet. And when they do, a year’s worth of aching hearts and loneliness and seemingly impossible what-ifs start to fade.

Their kisses are almost the opposite of the desperate, impassioned ones they’d shared when they said goodbye. These ones are softer, sweeter, as if their mouths are well aware that now they’ve got all the time in the world. Al savors the feeling of Isabelle’s fingers running through the short hair at the back of her head, the sensation of her lips moving against her own, the way she tastes, the way she... yawns?

They both open their eyes then, and Isabelle whispers a nearly inaudible “sorry” before starting to giggle. Al joins in, but when Isabelle yawns again, she brushes her bangs back and kisses her forehead before leaning over her to blow out the candle. Althea sinks back onto the bed, on her back this time. Her arm goes around Isabelle, who immediately curls up against her, tucking her head underneath Al’s chin and slinging an arm across her torso, one of her legs twisting in with Al’s – moves that feel so natural for both of them. Al falls asleep holding Isabelle in her arms just as she’d imagined doing every night for the last year, just as, unbeknownst to her, Isabelle had been wishing for, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Interlude_ by Morrissey & Siouxsie Sioux


	7. All I want to get is a little bit closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al reaches across the small table for her hand without breaking her gaze for a moment. “Can’t stop wondering how it is that you’re sitting across the table from me right now.”
> 
> Isabelle’s smile fades and she sighs. “It’s a long story.”
> 
> “No pressure, at all. I’m just happy you’re here.”
> 
> They sit, not talking, until Isabelle breaks the silence. “Not knowing is absolutely killing you, isn’t it,” she teases. 
> 
> “It absolutely is, but I’ve waited longer for something I really wanted,” Al replies matter-of-factly.

The next morning Al is awakened by the sunlight streaming through the window a few feet from her face. She makes a mental note to add _curtains for Dwight’s house_ to her scavenging list. And then she’s flooded with the same exquisite anticipation she remembers from Christmas mornings as a kid. She didn’t just dream her, right?

She turns over and Isabelle is really there, in the bed next to her, messy hair just visible above the covers. She’s still asleep, facing away from Al, but less than a foot away. Recalling how tired the other woman was the night before, Al tries to resist the urge to get closer. She gives in after about thirty seconds and moves closer to snuggle up against Isabelle. Intending not to wake her and hoping to go back to sleep herself, she encircles Isabelle’s waist with her arm and allows her lips to graze the back of her neck. Isabelle stirs and sighs and leans back into Al, turning her head until their lips just barely meet.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you,” Al murmurs.

“It’s okay. I was already planning on taking a nap later,” she replies, her voice husky with sleep. She chuckles. “Good morning.”

“The _best_ morning,” says Al, lips back on Isabelle’s neck. She’s pretty sure she could lay in this spot all day. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” Regardless, Isabelle turns over and lays her head against Al's chest. Echoing Al’s thoughts, she adds, “But I also just want to stay right here all day.”

“That’d be okay with me,” says Al, wrapping her arms around her, “But you really should eat.”

“Mmhmm. Probably.” Isabelle still makes no move to get up. Her fingernails rake across Al’s belly through the thin fabric of her pajama top. Her eyes remain closed, but her lips curl into a smile when she hits a ticklish spot and Al gasps and recoils.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly living in the future here… breakfast will _not_ be teleported to this bed,” Al says, chuckling at her own joke, “and it’s going to be hard for me to bring you something while you’re wrapped around me like this.”

Isabelle rolls her eyes and lazily hits Al on her side, but then just holds onto her, pulling her closer, lifting her face toward Al’s. Al runs her fingers through Isabelle’s hair, watching the blissful look that takes over her face, an outward expression of what she herself is feeling inside. Forget just today… she could stay right here forever, their bodies pressed up against each other, legs entangled under the covers.

Just as their lips are about to meet there’s a knock at the door. Al groans and rolls her eyes. She climbs over Isabelle and shuffles to the door, pulling on her hoodie as she goes. As she suspected, it’s Dwight. She pushes past him onto the porch and closes the door after her.

“What?!” she demands, a little more impatiently than she intended.

“Geez, I brought you guys breakfast since you were about to miss it, but I guess I could just leave and eat it all myself,” he says sarcastically, turning to go.

Al laughs and grabs his arm. “Well, since you’re already here… I guess we are kind of hungry.” He turns back around with a grin and hands her the covered plate of food.

“That should be enough for both of you. But I dunno, with the way _you_ eat, maybe not. There’s coffee in the cupboard. Help yourselves. Use whatever you want in there, not that there’s much.”

Al cringes. “Funny you should say that… I kinda destroyed two of your kitchen towels last night.”

“The new ones?” Dwight nearly whines, looking legitimately disappointed.

“I needed something to clean Isabelle’s wounds, and I figured new was the closest thing to sterile.” She smiles apologetically. “I’ll find you some more.”

“It’s cool… I just really liked the stripes.” He shrugs. “Is there enough wood for the stove?”

“Yep. Thanks, Dwight.”

“Is Isabelle doing okay? Sorry… I guess that’s the first thing I should’ve asked.”

Al quickly fills him in on the state of her injuries.

“I’m glad she’s gonna be okay. I feel like a total ass for tackling her last night.” He lowers his voice and leans in. “So, how’s it going besides that? Is it weird? It’s gotta be weird.”

Al laughs awkwardly and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “It’s good. A little weird, but really good. I still can’t believe she’s here. Thank you _so much_ for letting us use your house… I have a feeling she’ll still be recuperating for a couple of days.”

“I said to stay as long as you want to stay, and I meant it. She did keep me from dying of the fucking bubonic plague. And I might still feel a _little_ bad about getting dibs on this place.”

“It’ll never make sense to me that paper beats rock.”

“That’s just how it is, Al.” Dwight says, chuckling. “I’m still working on your house this week, by the way. Charlie took your spot on my crew.”

Al raises her eyebrows. “Just don’t let her get on the roof.”

“Okay, Mom,” he singsongs.

She smiles and flips him off. “Shut up.”

He grins at her. “Alright. I’ll get out of your hair now. Enjoy the day with your girl. Let me know if you guys need anything.”

“Thanks again for the food, Dwight. _And_ working on my house. You really are the best.”

“Probably not true, but I’m glad you think so.” He slaps her on the back. “Hey, I’m really happy for you, Al.”

“Thanks.” She notes his half-smile and the wistful look in his eyes, and realizes he’s probably feeling the same mix of emotions she experienced when he reunited with Sherry less than a day after she'd lost Isabelle for the second time.

Al lets herself back into the house and sets the dish down on the table. “Dwight brought us breakfast.”

“Really?” says Isabelle, perking up but still horizontal.

“Yup.” Al crosses the room to the bed and crouches down by Isabelle, leaning over to kiss her. “Here, let me help you sit up.” She does, and Isabelle immediately reaches for the ibuprofen and swallows three.

“How are you feeling?”

Isabelle wiggles her toes. “My foot feels okay right now, but it’ll be at least a couple more days before I’m shoving my feet into my boots. I’m still sore all over from falling of that roof… less than yesterday, though. The cut on my side feels like it’s on fire.”

“I’ll check it out right after we eat, okay?” Al goes about building a fire in the wood stove and puts the kettle on it. “You want coffee?”

“I'd _love_ coffee,” says Isabelle.

“Don’t get _too_ excited… it’s instant.”

“I’m used to it. Real coffee is the one thing they still don’t even have in… where I’m from.” She leaves it at that, and Al doesn’t press for information, although she has about a million and one questions.

“Do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed, or do you want to come sit at the table?”

“I definitely need to get up.” She stretches her arms and upper body, resulting in a fresh wave of pain across her torso. Al sees it on her face and comes back to the bed, concerned.

“I’m okay. I just need to not stretch, turn, or move suddenly,” she says ruefully. Since Althea is already over there, she helps Isabelle out of bed and to the table. They both know she can make it there on her own, but Isabelle looks at Al with adoration in her eyes and a grateful smile on her face, and Al just basks in it. Their dynamic with each other is so utterly different than it was when they met, but so are the circumstances. She speculates for a moment about what they’ll be like together after Isabelle has recovered and they’ve gotten to know each other little better.

Al uncovers the food delivered by Dwight – scrambled eggs and freshly made corn tortillas – and puts considerably less than half of it on a plate for herself. She slides the rest across the table to Isabelle.

Isabelle shoots her a reproachful look. “Al, this doesn’t seem very fair.”

She shrugs. “I ate three meals yesterday and I know you didn’t. If I’m hungry later, I’ll find something else.”

Isabelle is too hungry to argue and they eat quietly until she catches Al gazing at her over the rim of her coffee cup. She freezes. “What?” she asks, but in a much kinder way than Al had said it to Dwight a few minutes earlier. They both laugh softly, and Al reaches across the small table for her hand without breaking her gaze for a moment.

“Can’t stop wondering how it is that you’re sitting across the table from me right now.”

Isabelle’s smile fades and she sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“No pressure, at all. I’m just happy you’re here.”

They sit, not talking, until Isabelle breaks the silence. “Not knowing is absolutely killing you, isn’t it,” she teases. 

“It absolutely is, but I’ve waited longer for something I really wanted,” Al replies matter-of-factly.

Isabelle says nothing in response, but Al catches a glimpse of a subtle, satisfied smile before she goes back to eating her eggs.

When they’ve finished, Al stacks the dishes so she can take them back to the settlement’s kitchen later, and sits back down at the table. “Alright, sweetheart. What’s on the agenda today?”

Isabelle hums and looks thoughtful. “Napping. More napping. And being with you. That’s _my_ agenda... you obviously don’t have to take multiple naps with me, but the last part, I insist on.”

“I might be able to fit some of that into my schedule. Actually, the _only_ thing on my agenda today is ‘hang out with Isabelle’ so…”

“I guess it’s a good thing I showed up, then!” Isabelle keeps her eyes trained on Althea’s, her brow furrowing when she sees Al’s expression unexpectedly turn serious.

“I know I told you there was no hurry to fill me in on your story, but last night Morgan asked me about it, if your people might come looking for you, what kind of risk there might be for our community,” she says carefully. “I was hoping that—”

“No, I get it,” Isabelle responds quickly, “So let’s talk about it. In bed, though. This chair is making everything hurt worse.”

“I am very much in favor of getting back into bed with you, yes. But I do want to check your injuries first.”

Isabelle’s foot still looks incredibly painful to Althea, but Isabelle insists that it feels fine as long as nothing is putting pressure on the worst spots. Despite the pain, the deep cut on her side is looking a lot better than it did the night before. Al is relieved. Out of everyone in their settlement, she’s had the most medical training with all the first aid she had to learn (and use) for work, and it’s nowhere near enough to take care of anything major. She can handle butterfly strips and bandages, but if Isabelle had needed stitches, things would’ve gotten sketchy. Al finishes fixing her up and Isabelle pulls her down onto the bed next to her.

Al finds herself studying Isabelle’s face again. This is probably going to be her new favorite pastime. “Have I mentioned yet today how beautiful you are?”

Isabelle raises her eyebrows skeptically. “Al, I’m filthy, I’m exhausted, I’m hurt…”

“And you’re still fucking stunning,” counters Al. “I spent an entire year dreaming about you and somehow you’re even prettier than I remembered.” She leans closer to Isabelle and gives her a quick kiss. “Anyway. I’m dying to hear your story… just had to get that out of the way first.”

Isabelle laughs. “You’re not going to get your camera, are you?”

“Now that you mention it…” Al acts like she’s going to get up, and Isabelle grabs her arm and pulls her back down. They’re face to face again. Their lips are mere inches apart, and Isabelle closes the distance. They start off kissing slowly and sweetly, but their kisses quickly build in intensity and the space between their bodies grows nonexistent. Isabelle lets out a small moan and bites down on Al’s lower lip just enough that it takes every bit of Al’s restraint to not pounce on her. “God, Isabelle,” she groans as she rolls over onto her back, hands on her face.

“What?” Her innocent tone is belied by the gleam in her eye.

“ _You_ know what.”

“That you’re wishing we were about to have sex right now _?_ ” she responds smugly.

Al sits up, laughing, and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Well! I wasn’t going to be _that_ blunt, but yes.”

“You’re not the only one.” Isabelle struggles into a sitting position, and Al piles up the pillows to support her back. “I’m already feeling a lot better, but not _that_ much better quite yet.”

“No rush… the last thing I want to do is end up hurting you when I’m trying to make you feel good.” Al leans back against the wall perpendicular to Isabelle and reaches for her hand.

“But like I said, I’m already feeling _a lot_ better.”

Al shoots her a patient smile. “I’m glad to hear that. For multiple reasons.”

“Sex being one of them.”

“It’s way up on _my_ list.”

Isabelle nods in agreement and squeezes Al’s hand. “What happened to you _dying to hear my story?_ ”

“Oh, I still am... just got a little distracted. Please, go ahead.”

Isabelle starts by telling about her attempts to track her after their rooftop near-miss, losing her, and finding her again at the dam. “I got lucky. I saw two people on watch, and I thought one of them might be you. And then I heard you laugh, and I _knew_ it was you, and that I couldn’t go another year, or even another month, without hearing it every day.”

“You like my stupid laugh?” Al asks, incredulously.

Isabelle replies completely serious, “Al, I love your stupid laugh.”

“Just adds to my charm, I guess,” Al says, smirking to cover up the pure happiness she’s feeling, that she’s been feeling all morning.

“It does, and so does your smile. The real one, not that one.” Isabelle replies, poking her leg with her toe. Their eyes meet, and Isabelle gets the smile she wants – the genuine one.

Althea listens patiently, suppressing her urge to ask too many questions – extremely difficult considering the very basic information Isabelle shares with her about the obviously very complex organization she left. The preparations she’d taken to ensure they’d believe her to be dead, the risks her cousin had taken to help. The burning of the helicopter with human remains inside, the miles of walking, the intruders. Hiding on the roof, falling off the roof. Bleeding profusely while limping the remaining five or so miles so she could _just be with Al already._

“I can’t believe you did all of that to get to _me_ ,” Al says, fighting back tears. “Isabelle, this whole year I was pining for you like, at least twenty-three hours a day, but in the back of my mind there was always this thought that maybe you didn’t feel anything like that for me.” Fuck it… there’s no point in trying to stop. She’s crying. Again.

“Come over here.” Althea moves over to sit by her, and Isabelle wraps her arms around her. “I did, though. I never stopped thinking about you… it just seemed impossible for us to be together. And then hearing your voice on the radio, being that close to you and not being able to do anything about it, and losing track of you a week later? I thought you died, Al.” Isabelle wipes her own eyes on her sleeve. “I couldn’t function. I’d be piloting a helicopter in a windstorm and still be completely checked out. Before the rooftop I’d started thinking I imagined you, and then there you were, and then you were gone. So I started looking for you. If you were still alive, I had to be with you, no matter how high the cost.”

“And here you are.”

“And here I am.”

“Just so you know, I’m not usually like this, crying constantly,” Al says, “but your very existence on the planet makes me feel all my emotions all the time… your existence in the same room as me? Hopefully I’ll calm the hell down soon.”

“I get it, Al. You make me… _feel all my emotions_ too.” She sighs. “I changed a lot after everything went to hell. Toughened up, just kinda shut off who I was before. It worked until I met you. I started feeling human again with you. I want to be myself again, not an automaton who follows orders and spits out platitudes.”

Al kisses her tear-stained cheek. “You know what? I can’t wait to learn every single thing about you.”

“And me, you,” Isabelle says.

Once she has a grip on herself again, she decides she needs to bring up the sketchbook. She sighs. “Al, I did something really stupid.”

As a person often doing something impulsive or irrational, Al’s curiosity is piqued.

“So, for the last three years, I’ve had this sketchbook. And especially the first year, I was drawing pictures of my life from before.”

“I didn’t know you’re an artist,” says Al, very intrigued.

Isabelle nods. “I was. I _am_. And I’m actually good, which is the problem. I’m in some of the drawings. My cousin told me to leave it behind, and I _knew_ I should’ve left it…”

“And you couldn’t bear to leave it, and you put it in your backpack,” Al finishes for her. “And now the backpack is gone.”

Isabelle nods, looking like she’s about to cry again. “So now it’s somewhere out there, within a few miles of where I supposedly burned to death in my helicopter. If there’s any reason for them to think I’m not dead, they’ll be looking. I’d already been reported for breaking regulations, so that’s not far-fetched. If they find that book, it’ll confirm that I wasn’t in that chopper when it burned. And they won’t stop until they find me.

“ _Nobody_ just walks away,” Al murmurs, remembering Isabelle’s chilling words from long ago. She smooths her hair and presses her lips to her temple. “You’re not stupid for keeping that book, Isabelle… just human.” She sits in silence, deep in thought. “I’m gonna fix this for you. Or at least try my hardest to fix it for you.”

Isabelle props herself up on her elbow. “Al, _no._ It’s not worth it. I’ll get over losing the sketchbook, and what’s the likelihood that it’d ever make it back to them anyway? For all I know those guys are using it as fuel for a fire right now. I’m probably worrying about nothing.”

“ _Probably_ isn’t good enough for me, when it comes to you. And I won’t go alone. Dwight kinda owes you a favor.”

Isabelle waves her off. “He doesn’t owe me anything… he was just protecting you. I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.”

Al looks at Isabelle blankly. “Wow. I guess you don’t know, because, how would you? Dwight is alive because of the antibiotics you pointed me toward on the rooftop. Actually, about half the people in this settlement are.”

“What? Really?”

“Yep. That’s why I had to turn you around. I knew I probably wasn’t infected, and if I was, it wouldn’t have been passed to you anyway. But while I was sitting up there, waiting for you, it hit me that I was about to lose him when there was something that I could do to stop it from happening. So I was going to go back down and hit every drugstore in the city to find antibiotics for my friend. I lost my brother to my own selfishness… I couldn’t lose Dwight, too.

“Besides,” she adds quietly, “what would’ve been the likely outcome if you _had_ landed?”

Al’s hand is on Isabelle’s knee, and Isabelle covers it with her own. They’re silent for a minute, thinking of the protocol Isabelle would’ve been expected to follow. “I think we should just be thankful that we found each other the way we just did and move on from there.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Closer_ by Tegan and Sara.
> 
> FYI, updates are probably going to slow down a little since I'm really busy with school. You can subscribe and get an email whenever another chapter is posted. As always, thanks for reading!


	8. My heart beats blue, beats red, beats mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what’s the plan?” asks Dwight.
> 
> “I promised Isabelle, and myself, that I won’t put either of us in danger to get it back if there’s any sort of issue.”
> 
> Dwight raises his eyebrows. “And then you brought every single weapon you own. Makes sense.”
> 
> “Nah, a couple of them are still sitting on your table,” Al replies with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (content warning: sexual harassment)

Isabelle falls asleep soon after their conversation, and an hour later she’s still asleep, and Althea is still wide awake. As much as she’d love to keep laying there, daydreaming about Isabelle while Isabelle is actually draped halfway over her, Al’s got business to take care of, and she’d like to have it done before sunset.

She pulls herself out from under Isabelle's body, changes out of her pajamas quietly, and jots down the descriptions Isabelle had given her earlier of the house, the backpack, the sketchbook, and the truck driven by the three men from whom she had run. Stuffing the list into her pocket, she crouches down next to Isabelle, kissing her softly on her cheeks and forehead to rouse her enough to let her know where she’s going.

“I’m gonna get Dwight to ride out there with me. Hopefully they’re still there, or even better, that they’re gone and left your stuff there.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Isabelle murmurs, her eyes half open. “I don’t have to get it back, Al. It’ll be okay.”

“Unless it’s not. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take,” she replies, letting her hand linger on Isabelle’s cheek for a moment before standing. “We’ll be careful, and I’ll let someone know to come after us if we’re not back in a few hours. I’ll back down if it feels like it’s gonna go bad, but it’s a used sketchbook… I can’t imagine it being something anyone else be attached to...”

“…But you never know, these days.” She sighs, a little more awake now. “I’m not stopping you, am I.”

“Not a chance.”

“ _Ugh._ I forgot how fucking stubborn you are.”

“I am, and you did,” agrees Al, going through her inventory of knives. “Lunch is in about an hour… I’ll ask Morgan or Rachel to bring something by for you, okay?”

“I’ll probably be asleep. Or anxiously pacing the lakebed, waiting for you to return,” she jokes, even as her eyes are nearly closed again.

Al chuckles. “Okay then… I’ll just tell him to leave it on the porch if you don’t answer.”

“’Thank you. Come here and kiss me again before you go, Al.”

Al crosses the floor of the small house in seconds flat and leans down to press her lips to Isabelle’s, already growing slack as she drifts back into dreamland.

“Al?” she hears Isabelle murmur as she’s slinging her rifle over her shoulder. Al turns around. “You’re so much more important to me than that book. Please don’t do anything that could end with you not coming back.”

Al vows to herself to do exactly that. “I’ll see you before nightfall. That’s a promise.”

Al finds Dwight outside her house, sawing a piece of lumber into shorter boards. He grins as he sees her walking up. “Hey. I’m working on the stairs.”

“I can’t believe you’re out here building my house while I’ve been laying around all day… in _your_ bed.”

“It’s really okay, Al. I like doing it, and I want to make sure you guys have somewhere nice to go when I boot your asses out of my place.”

“Thanks…. I think.”

“Seriously though, I was thinking that if we focus on finishing the loft first, you could at least start sleeping here before the rest is complete. We could probably have it ready in less than a week… no hand-carved banister, mind you…”

“Wow, I didn’t even realize that was an option!” Al jokes. But she doesn’t even have to think about Dwight’s idea before agreeing. Looking around, she asks, “Where’s your helper?”

Dwight makes a face. “Ehh, she brought Dakota with her, and I could only handle being here with the two of them for an hour before I made them leave. I have no idea how Alicia’s been sharing a tent with them for weeks now… they must drive her nuts.”

“I couldn’t do it for a day,” Al says. “Maybe I should offer my tent to her… once I boot your ass out of it, of course.” They both laugh.

Dwight’s puts down his tools and looks more closely at Al. “ _Woah,_ what’s all that for?” he asks, seeing the rifle on her back and the trench spike and knife holstered at her hip. The pistol shoved into the back of her waistband and the push dagger in her boot are hidden from sight, but Dwight knows her well enough to know she has those too.

“Feel like going for a ride?”

It’s been less than a day since Isabelle appeared, but her presence has Al in a completely different state of mind, and everything that happened before last night now feels like ancient history. She and Dwight were on this same road, on these same horses, Auggie and Pretzel, on a supply run only four days ago. It feels like it’s been weeks.

“So, how’s it going?” Dwight asks out of nowhere.

Al laughs and shoots him a look. “As opposed to three hours ago when you asked me?”

“You got this little smile that hasn’t left your lips since you came to find me, and it’s not like we’re out on a super fun errand.”

Al shrugs, feeling a little giddy just thinking about the woman awaiting her return. “God, Dwight, it’s _so good_ being with her. I could never quite put my finger on what it is about her that made me fall so hard for her, and I don’t know that I could even now. There’s something about her that just does it for me.”

“You’re in love with her.”

Al considers how respond to this. “I am. I knew it when I met her, and I’m even more sure now, after what, twelve hours together?” She looks away, hiding the color rushing to her cheeks. “It sounds really weird when I say it out loud to you. Even weirder than it does in my head.”

“Hey, when you know, you know. I don’t think it happened quite that fast with Sherry, but I definitely remember just _knowing._ But things were different then. I don’t think any of us are gonna live as long as we thought. We could go at any minute, so we need to make the most of it.” He smiles wistfully. “Hold on tight to her, Al. And make sure she knows you love her, as soon as you’re ready to say it and she’s ready to hear it. Don’t waste time. Because you don’t know how much you have left.”

Al nods. “Dwight, I’m so sorry about Sherry.”

Dwight sighs and shakes his head. “I’m trying not to give up hope, but I’m not gonna lie… it gets harder every single day. I lost her once and was lucky enough to find her – I’m not sure that can happen a second time.”

“I really wish there were something I could do or say to help, Dwight.” She navigates Auggie closer to Dwight and leans over to pat his shoulder, nearly falling off her horse in the process.

Dwight guffaws. “I swear to god, Al, I don’t understand how you’re such a badass ninety percent of the time, and then that other ten percent you’re a total klutz.”

She grins at him and then leans over again and successfully lands a punch on his bicep.

He hits her back before getting down to business. “So what’s the plan?”

“I promised Isabelle, and myself, that I won’t put either of us in danger to get it back if there’s any sort of issue.”

“And then you brought every single weapon you own.” Dwight raises his eyebrows. “Makes sense.”

“Nah, a couple of them are still sitting on your table,” she replies with a smirk. “Anyway, if those guys are still there… well, know at least two of them have short tempers and at least one gun,” she reminds him. “It’s just a book and I don’t know why they’d want it, but If I can’t get it back peacefully, we’re going to leave, okay? And if they’re there, I want you to stay with the horses unless things go south. Unless they’re offended by my girlish charm, I have a feeling that they’ll be less likely to start shit if it’s just me.”

Dwight shakes his head. “I hate this plan, but it makes sense.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but de-escalation isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

“Hey, if this is about last night…”

“Among others,” says Al, grinning. “I’m joking about last night though – that was different. You actually thought I was getting attacked, which made sense from where you were. If you see anyone lunging at anyone _today_ , though _,_ do what you need to do.”

Soon Al spots the blue farmhouse that Isabelle had described and signals her horse to slow to a walk, and Dwight does the same. Seeing the gray truck parked outside, she says quietly to Dwight, “Remember, you’re babysitting the horses unless there’s conflict.”

“Got it, boss,” Dwight says, rolling his eyes. “But just a suggestion? Maybe you should leave your weapons, so these guys don’t take you out at first sight. The visible ones, at least.” He’s right. Al passes her trench spike and knife over to him and checks the safety on her rifle before hanging it by its strap on the saddle horn. She touches her lower back to make sure her pistol is hidden by her shirt.

As they ride up, they spot a man sitting on the porch, the perfect caricature of a Texan. He’s wearing a tan cowboy hat, has a five o’clock shadow, and is cleaning a gun. He stops when he sees them. Al and Dwight dismount and Al hands Auggie’s reins over to Dwight.

As Al approaches him, she doesn’t miss that he’s quickly reassembling the gun. She stops fifteen feet away and waves to him. He peers at her suspiciously but tips his hat. “Ma’am…What can I do for you?” he drawls, as casually as if people coming up to his porch is a daily occurrence.

Al stops herself from cringing at the _Ma’am_ and smiles, trying to appear friendly and nonconfrontational. _Friggin’ Texas._ “Hey, uh… my friend was staying in this house a few days ago, and she thinks she might have left something in it. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Another man pushes through the screen door so hard it hits the side of the house as he steps out onto the porch. It clatters shut behind him. This guy is wearing a Round Rock Express baseball cap and a flannel shirt nearly identical to Al’s own. She decides not to point this out to him.

“Her sketchbook. Spiral bound, black cover. Mostly pencil drawings inside? It was in her backpack, which was also black. I don’t care about the bag… just the book. It’s got sentimental value.”

 _“Really,”_ says Round Rock Express, one corner of his mouth turning up.

Al looks him in the eye and nods, forcing her smile to stay on her lips.

He turns to Cowboy Hat. “Steve, you seen something like that?”

“Don’t think so… Adam’s been holed up in that bedroom since we got here, though.”

 _“Adam!”_ he turns around and yells through the open door of the house.

Adam comes down the stairs a moment later, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s up? Who’s this?”

“Jesus, you’re sleeping again?! This lady says her girlfriend’s journal is here,” says Round Rock Express.

“It’s actually a sketch—” Al starts.

“Oh.” Adam’s eyes light up in recognition “Yeah, it’s upstairs. I’ll go—”

“Nope. Stop.” Adam stops. It’s obvious that Round Rock Express is in charge here.

“This is _our_ house now. So, everything in it is ours. Times are tough… we’re not givin’ anything away for free, sweetie.”

Al fights to stay calm. “It’s a used sketchbook. What value does it have for you?”

“Doesn’t matter what its value is to _us_ … it has value to _you._ ” Round Rock Express takes a step toward her. “So, what have _you_ got that we might want?”

Al follows through with her promise to walk away before things get ugly. She holds up her empty hands. “I don’t have anything, I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

She starts to back away. Round Rock Express comes down off the porch and saunters toward her. He stops when something catches his eye. “What is that, an M16?” he asks, catching Althea off-guard.

“What?”

“Hanging from your saddle there. I’ll trade ya.” Without turning around, he yells to Adam to go get the sketchbook.

“You want me to trade my rifle. For a used sketchbook.”

“Listen, sweetie, I have no interest in hurting you, or robbing you, or whatever. But everything’s a transaction.” Al flinches at his wording, wondering momentarily if she’d interviewed this man sometime in the past. “You want that book, I want that rifle. Are you in?”

“Absolutely,” she says through clenched teeth.

Adam comes out with the sketchbook in his hand, and Round Rock Express grabs it. Al looks at him stony-eyed as he leafs through its pages. “ _Damn,”_ he says, “I’d ask you which one is her, but both of them are hot, so good for you, either way.”

She turns around, silently fuming, and strides over to Auggie to get the rifle. She gives Dwight a half-smile as she takes her gun from the saddle, communicating with her eyes to be ready – to leave or to step in. Even the horses seem apprehensive – Pretzel is pawing the ground, and Auggie turns around to nudge Al’s shoulder with his muzzle.

She calmy walks back to the man and stops about ten feet away. “Alright let’s swap.”

He snaps the sketchbook shut and tosses it in her general direction. It lands in the dirt a few feet from her. She sets the rifle down by her feet and picks up the book, dusting it off as she turns to go and heads back to her horse, Dwight, safety. She stores the priceless item in the saddlebag and pulls herself into the saddle.

“I guess showing up with your girl’s prized possession, you’ll be gettin’ laid tonight,” Round Rock says, a repulsive smile on his face, “Wouldn’t mind being a fly on _that_ wall.” _Fucking disgusting piece of —_

“Al,” says Dwight under his breath as he watches his friend’s composure start to disintegrate, “We’re going. _Now._ ”

They signal to the horses to turn in the direction of the dam, and Al can’t help but get the last word in. “You know, between you and me?” she sneers at him, “I’m guessing only one of us will be anywhere near a vagina anytime soon.” She clicks her tongue at Auggie. “Have a nice day.”

The horses only walk a few steps before Al urges hers into a canter, and Dwight following close behind on Pretzel.

A couple of miles down the road they slow the horses to a walk. Dwight pretends not to see his friend wipe her eyes on her sleeve, even though it would be far from the first time he’s seen her cry. But the tears she’s shed in his presence in the past have mostly had to do with Isabelle or her brother. This time is different. He watches her as a look of fury takes over her expression.

“That fucking asshole.”

“Some people don’t deserve to have survived this long. I’m sorry he was a dick to you.”

“I wanted to beat the hell out him.”

“I know. I’m impressed that you were able to keep your cool. I would’ve escalated the shit out of that situation, no matter what the consequences were.”

She shrugs, looking defeated. “I’ve had far worse stuff said to me than that, but it’s been a while. I appreciate you keeping your distance and letting me deal with it. And coming with me. And having my back, like you always do.”

“Hey, you’d do the same for me.”

“You know it! But thanks, all the same.”

Dwight is quiet for a minute, and then busts up laughing. “You _had_ to have the last word, didn’t you.”

“Come on, like I’m not right.”

“You are,” he says. “Now let’s get you back home so you can hand that off to your girl,” Seeing her face brighten at the mention of Isabelle, he races off ahead of Al, yelling, “Come on, Al! I thought you knew how to ride!” behind him.

The brisk ride home and subsequent care for the horses helps Al shake off the humiliation and anger of the afternoon. After finishing with Auggie and having a quick chat with Morgan about the circumstances surrounding Isabelle’s arrival, Althea eagerly heads back to Isabelle. She arrives just as the sun is about to set.

She pushes the door open quietly, not wanting to startle her if she’s asleep. Instead, she’s surprised to see her sitting up in bed, drawing in the notebook Al had left out on the table earlier. Her heart soars as she sees Isabelle’s whole face light up at the sight of her, and she kicks off her boots and rushes over to the bed.

Isabelle laughs as Al takes the notebook from her hand and sets it on the bed and then straddles Isabelle’s legs, careful not to put her weight on her. She takes Isabelle’s face in her hands and brings her wind-chapped lips to Isabelle’s smooth ones.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Isabelle sighs, “I’ve been worried the whole time.”

Al chuckles. “The whole time you weren’t sleeping?”

“I woke up about an hour ago. So I’ve been worried for about an hour.” She grins and pick a piece of straw out of Al’s hair before running her fingers through it. “You’re okay? Dwight’s okay?”

Al climbs off Isabelle and sits down next to her. “Everything is fine, except my rifle, which is probably getting fellated by a creep in a baseball cap as we speak. But…” Al unzips her jacket, revealing the precious book. She hands it to Isabelle and kisses her on the cheek.

Isabelle hugs it to her chest. “Al, I don’t even know what to—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I was happy to do it.”

Isabelle sets the book down next to her and throws her arms around Al instead. “It’s not even about wanting to look at the pictures in it. It’s just knowing that it’s there. Is that crazy?”

“Not at all,” Al says softly, her arms encircling Isabelle’s waist loosely. “What are you working on?” She gestures to the notebook.

“I just started it.” She opens it up and hands it to Al. “I had to destroy all the ones I’d already done of you before I left, so I figured it’s time I start building up my collection again.”

Al is caught off guard to know that Isabelle had created multiple drawings of her. “A collection, huh?” She examines the half-finished portrait of herself. “Is it narcissistic for me to say this is beautiful? If I’m complimenting your skill, not my face.”

“But you _are_ beautiful,” Isabelle insists, “I just draw what I see.”

Al shakes her head, skeptical. “In any case, I think you’re an amazing artist, even though you’re stuck with me as your model.”

Isabelle turns to Al and leans in close enough to nudge her nose with her own. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else, so I guess that works out well for me,” she says. She tilts her head to bring her mouth to Al’s, and Al tosses the notebook to the side, ready to make up for the hours they'd spent apart that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The chapter title is from _On Guard_ by Le Tigre.  
> \- Trivia: Round Rock Express is the home team at Dell Diamond Stadium.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. I found a home in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al finally uncovers her face and weaves her fingers into the short hair at the back of Isabelle’s head, pulling her just close enough to sleepily kiss her for real. “It _is_ a good morning,” she says, at last opening her eyes.
> 
> “Mmhmm… I got to wake up with you next to me, _and_ I’m feeling a lot better.” Isabelle kisses her again.

The next morning, Isabelle wakes up first, and even before she opens her eyes, she can already tell she’s hit a turning point in her recovery. The wound on her torso isn’t nearly as ever-present in her mind as it's been, and when she turns onto her other side to face Al it doesn’t bother her like it had even the night before. She wriggles closer to her sweetheart and plants kisses on her neck.

Which of course wakes Al, who moans sleepily and rolls onto her back, throwing her arm over her eyes. “’Belle, what are you doing?” she mutters.

“Just saying good morning,” says Isabelle. Not allowing her girl's sleepiness to derail her attempt at morning-time cuddling, Isabelle straddles Al's hips and leans over to brush her lips with her own. She lets a hand wander from Al’s waist and it lingers on the soft roundness of her breast.

Al finally uncovers her face and weaves her fingers into the short hair at the back of Isabelle’s head, pulling her just close enough to sleepily kiss her for real. “It _is_ a good morning,” she says, at last opening her eyes.

“Mmhmm… I got to wake up with you next to me, _and_ I’m feeling a lot better.” Isabelle kisses her again, long and slow, tracing the other woman’s lips with the tip of her tongue. She shifts her position so she's more lying on Althea than straddling her.

“I can tell, and that is excellent news,” says Al, kissing her way down Isabelle’s graceful neck onto her collarbone, one hand traveling down Isabelle’s back to her butt, pushing her down a little more firmly against her hips. “God, I want you so fucking bad, Isabelle,” Al says, her voice nearly inaudible.

Isabelle’s response is breathy “me too” in her ear as she gently bites the lobe, her hands skimming over her chest. But when Al starts to push up Isabelle’s top, she calls a timeout. She turns onto her back and takes Al’s hand in hers as their breathing slows.

“I’m so sorry for stopping because, I am _so_ into this, but… I _really_ need to shower,” says Isabelle, apologetic and a little embarrassed.

Al rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow. She leans over to give Isabelle a quick kiss. “I mean, obviously it’s not bothering me _at all,_ but how about this… I’ll go grab us some breakfast and bring it back here. And then we’ll go shower. And then” – she kisses her lips again – “we can come back here and,” – she leans in for another kiss – “Hang out. In bed. Together. Without clothes. What do you think?”

Isabelle grabs the front of Al’s shirt and pulls her close to her to kiss her, not letting her lean back out this time. “I love this idea.”

“I’m not going to lie to you... the water isn’t _hot,_ but it’s not cold either,” Al says, as they step out of the house. “Someone rigged up a solar heater on the roof, but I think it might need a little modification.”

“Right now, I wouldn’t care if there were chunks of ice in it,” Isabelle assures her. “I am _desperate.”_

Al chuckles and gives her a look. “I know you’ve had access to things like beer and regular showers, but most of us haven’t. I lived in a SWAT van for a couple years and then was out on the road with Dwight for months. You do the math on how often I was bathing then.”

“The sum of that equation says you’re not as disgusted by me as I am.” Isabelle gives her a distracted smile, busy taking in the growing settlement. The small rustic buildings and dirt paths, the smell of smoke drifting from someone’s woodstove, the sound of a horse whinnying in the nearby corral... It’s completely different from the base – a huge relief… no matter how much she already misses its electricity and indoor plumbing.

“I thought I made that clear this morning,” Al says as she takes Isabelle’s hand despite feeling a little awkward about it. It’s been a day and a half since Isabelle’s arrival, so no doubt they’re already the hot gossip around the settlement. As a person who usually stays closer to the margins, this is not something she’s at all comfortable with. But whether her friends see her holding hands with her surprise girlfriend or not, they’re going to talk, so she might as well enjoy being with her while they do. Still, she’s relieved that the showers are fairly close to the house – less chance of bumping into anyone.

Most everyone in the settlement is either eating breakfast or working, so the small, ancient stone building that now houses the settlement’s tepid showers is completely vacant. Al is in and out in a few minutes, but Isabelle takes her time.

“Are you okay in there? How’s your wound looking? Do you need help?”

A sharp laugh rings out from behind the shower stall's door. “Al, two days ago I started taking off my ripped, bloody tank top in front of you and I thought you were going to have a heart attack. I’ll be okay.”

“I was kidding! But if you do need help, I’m ready and willing.”

_“Al!”_ exclaims Isabelle, touches of both amusement and minor annoyance in her voice. 

“I’m just gonna wait outside for you.”

She’s been leaning against the rough surface of the building for several minutes when Charlie spots her and makes a beeline right for her. Al sighs, bracing herself. At least Dakota isn’t with her. “Hey, Al,” she practically sings, a huge grin on her face, eyes twinkling playfully, “So I heard a rumor—”

Al cuts her off, talking over her. “Hey, Charlie! _I_ heard a rumor that you’re helping Dwight this week. That’s cool.”

Charlie clears her throat. “—that you got a girlfriend,” she persists, refusing to get derailed. “Is she cute?” she asks, stretching the word out like it’s bubble gum. “When do I get to meet her?”

Her timing flawless, Isabelle walks out of the building right at that moment. Althea smirks at Charlie. “Well, she’s not _cute_ ; she’s totally gorgeous, and you can meet her right now,” she says, grabbing Charlie’s shoulders and turning her around. “Charlie, this is Isabelle. Isabelle, Charlie.” She winks at Isabelle over Charlie’s head, and Isabelle suppresses a laugh.

They exchange niceties and Charlie glances around for an escape. “I’d better go find Dwight now. It’s nice meeting you, Isabelle.”

“Bye, Charlie. Thanks for helping Dwight today,” says Al, releasing Charlie from her grasp and giving her a little push. “And stay off the roof!” she calls after her. Charlie flips her off without turning around.

Al shakes her head. “She’s definitely been hanging around me and Dwight too much.”

Isabelle puts her arm around Al’s waist, resting her hand on her hip and giving her a flirty look. “Totally gorgeous, huh?”

“I don’t think ‘cute’ is an accurate descriptor for you,” replies Al, her hand landing on Isabelle's lower back. As they walk hip-to-hip, she fills Isabelle in on the housing situation. “So, Dwight was thinking that as long as we work on finishing the loft first, we should be able to move into the house within a week. There’s still a lot of finishing work that’ll need to happen downstairs, but at least we’ll have a place to sleep after Dwight’s that’s not a tent.”

“That is great… not that there’s anything wrong with camping for a little while. Remember? The first night we ever spent together was in a tent, Al… so romantic!” Isabelle reminisces, an impish smile playing on her lips. The night they’d shared in the tent had _not_ been romantic.

Al laughs. “We are absolutely not counting _that_ as the first night we spent together. I’d much rather remember the night you got here as our first. We went to sleep in each other’s arms, and there was kissing… for about five minutes before you passed out, anyway.”

“Come on, Al… it was more than five minutes!”

Al squeezes her and kisses her cheek. “Five minutes is being generous!”

“Whatever… I was exhausted,” says Isabelle.

“I know. I shouldn’t tease you,” Al says, both of them knowing that there’s no way she’ll follow through on that. “Anyway, camping somewhere beautiful together with no one around and no dead would be amazing, and I hope we get to do that someday. Sleeping in a tent in a dry lakebed with other tents on both sides of us? Not amazing.”

“I can deal with the tent situation if we have to, but I’m glad we’ll probably be skipping it.” She makes eye contact with Al and can’t help but smile. Isabelle hasn’t smiled this much since before the world ended.

Al grins back at her and rubs her lower back, having one of those moments of euphoria that had started cropping up since Isabelle walked back into her life. “Do you want to see the house? _My_ house, _our_ house?”

“The one that we’re going to live in together, that my smoking hot girlfriend is building with her own two hands? Of course I do.”

Al looks down, shaking her head and blushing at the compliment. “Later today, or maybe tomorrow, I’ll take you over there. I’m really happy with how it’s turning out. I hope _you_ like it.”

“It could be a cardboard box and I’d still be thrilled to live there with you.”

“Or… a tent?”

“Wherever you are, Al. That’s where I want to be,” says Isabelle earnestly. She leans closer to her ear and adds, “You’re adorable when you blush.” Al blushes harder, and Isabelle presses her lips to her temple.

Then they’re back at Dwight’s house. The moment Al steps onto the small porch, the butterflies lying dormant in her stomach jump into action. The plan they’d made was to come back and spend the day in bed together, after all… definitely worthy of the combination of nerves and excitement that’s exploding inside of her.

The second Al closes the door behind them, Isabelle turns to her, takes the bag with their shower things from Al’s shoulder, drops it on the ground, and grabs Althea by the waist. Overcome by anticipation, she presses her face into Al’s neck and takes a deep breath. “I still haven’t completely convinced myself that this is real, Al. I missed you for so long and now we’re right here, together. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Al’s eyes close as Isabelle’s words on her neck sends a delightful shiver down her spine. She’s about to respond when Isabelle presses a hand to her breastbone and firmly backs her up against the door, smashing her lips against hers. Althea is caught completely off guard but manages to recover quickly. She takes Isabelle’s face in her hands, deepening their kiss, some of the sweetness gone for now as the desire they’ve both carried for so long is on the verge of being satisfied.

Isabelle breaks their kiss to drag her teeth down Al’s neck, and she nips at the delicate skin right above her collarbone. Feeling Al flinch, Isabelle kisses the spot and whispers a quick “sorry” before returning her mouth to the other woman’s.

“Sure, you are,” Al murmurs knowingly, her point proven by the silent little laugh she feels against her lips.

“It’s okay… there are plenty of other things I want to do to you with my mouth,” says Isabelle, the force of her kiss and the pressure of her hips keeping her partner against the door. Al had already felt the wetness accumulating between her thighs, and after that one sentence leaves Isabelle's mouth, suddenly there’s a lot more. Her hands move from Isabelle’s hips to her ass, instinctually trying to pull her even closer.

Isabelle works on unbuttoning Al’s shirt with one hand, while tracing the skin just under the waistband of her pants with her other. Her hand moves a little lower, fingers following the line of Al’s hip bone. Al closes her eyes and lets out the smallest whimper as Isabelle’s fingers move closer to where she desperately wants them to be.

Al slips a hand under Isabelle’s shirt, caressing the unbelievably soft skin of her midriff. Her fingers graze the curve of her breasts, and Al smiles against Isabelle’s lips. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

“It’s the apocalypse, baby. Fuck bras.”

“Well in that case, fuck clothes in general,” says Al, taking hold of the hem of Isabelle’s top, pulling it up and off over her head. She tosses it on the floor and is still for a moment, gazing at Isabelle’s graceful form before stepping towards her, their mouths joining, Al grasping Isabelle’s waist. She guides her backwards across the room, neither of them willing to break their kiss again. As they move, Isabelle undoes the last buttons on Al’s shirt, letting it drop, along with everything she’s wearing under it.

When they get to the bed Al turns them around and sinks down onto the edge, pulling Isabelle onto her lap so they’re facing each other. She kisses Isabelle deeply, savoring the feel of her bare skin against her own. Her lips trail down Isabelle’s jawline to her neck, to her collarbone, so slowly, until Isabelle sits up on her knees, just enough for her breasts to be right where Al’s mouth can easily reach them. “How are you so perfect,” she murmurs into Isabelle’s sweet-smelling skin. She feels Isabelle’s fingertips ghosting her back, her sides, her stomach, her breasts, finally grasping her shoulders as if to keep herself from falling backward. Al tightens her hold on Isabelle’s back. “I’m not gonna let you fall,” she says gently, looking into her eyes, “not now... not if you were dangling off the side of a cliff.” Her eyes twinkle and her smile grows a touch of a smirk.

“That’s _quite_ specific,” replies Isabelle. They both chuckle, and Isabelle's eyes reflect the gleam in Althea's as she leans all her weight onto Al’s shoulders, pushing her down onto her back. Al hits the mattress with a grunt. Feeling triumphant, Isabelle rolls off of her and props herself up over her to look down at her face. For a minute they both cease movement, laughter fading, smiles softening, communicating with their eyes the love they have for each other that neither is ready to put into words.

Isabelle gently cups Al’s cheek in the palm of her hand and leans over to unite their lips once again. Their tender kiss turns passionate in a matter of seconds as their hands travel over each other's bodies. Al wedges a thigh in between Isabelle’s legs and as they move their hips in sync with each other, Isabelle is pretty sure she's about to combust.

Feeling a heightening need for them both to shed the rest of their clothes as soon as possible, Al leverages her weight to roll Isabelle off of her and flips her onto her back. Isabelle cries out in surprise but quiets down, for a moment anyway, as Althea trails her lips slowly down her chest and stomach. As her mouth travels downward, she runs her fingers up Isabelle’s inner thigh, lingering at the spot that makes her suck in her breath and arch her back. Looking up at Isabelle to see pure pleasure enhancing her already beautiful face, Althea quickly handles the button and zipper on her jeans and slowly pushes them over her hips and down her long legs. Isabelle kicks them off her feet onto the floor. “Let me help you with these,” she murmurs to Al, their lips meeting in a searing hot kiss as she reaches for the closure at the front of her pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from _Daniel_ by Bat For Lashes.
> 
> Sorry for the delay! The next chapter should be posted in the next few days. Hopefully this one was worth the wait!


	10. Just like honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Remember? I’m a journalist; I’m good at reading people. I knew it was mostly an act. And I still thought you were hot - maybe a little scary, but I was definitely intrigued.”
> 
> “Good to know my intimidation tactics fell flat,” says Isabelle wryly, “I’ll have to work on that.”

Al drops her head down on the pillow facing Isabelle’s, and bumps her nose gently with her own before angling her head to meet her lips. When they separate again, Isabelle sighs happily. She reaches for Al’s hand and traces the lines on her palm.

“Gonna tell my fortune?” Al asks.

Isabelle’s lips curve into a slight smile and she looks up to gaze into Althea’s hazel eyes as she makes up a fortune that’s really just her hopes for her, for them. “I’m seeing that your future will be filled with unfathomable happiness and love.” She sees something flicker in Al’s eyes at the word _love,_ but she can't tell what it is. Hopefully she hasn’t just made things weird. “And a ton of really good sex,” she adds quickly, trying to lighten the potential emotional load.

“You got all that from my palm?” Al tackles Isabelle and showers her with kisses, making her squeal. “Not sure I believe you,” she murmurs into her neck.

“Mmhmm! Lucky for you, I’m an expert. I went through a phase in college where I was really into tarot, which has _nothing_ to do with palm reading, for a semester or two.”

Al laughs. “I think I dated about three of you while _I_ was in college. I had a huge weakness for card-reading as a flirting tactic. It’s too bad you didn’t know that about me when we first met,” she jokes, squeezing Isabelle’s hand, “could’ve saved us a lot of trouble.”

Guilt immediately floods Isabelle’s eyes, and Al cringes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Isabelle shakes her head. “No, it’s something we need to talk about.” She turns onto her side and props herself up on her elbow. “The minute we met, I immediately… felt something for you. And then I spent three days threatening you and trying to kill you anyway.” She wills the tears forming in her eyes not to fall.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Althea says, caressing her cheek. As good as it feels, Isabelle lifts the other woman’s hand from her face and holds it firmly in her own. It’s not Al’s job to soothe her over something terrible that she did.

“Al, there was nobody watching me in that moment… no one else from the CRM even knew you existed. And yeah, I was pretty fucking brainwashed, but everything inside me was telling me to just let you go, and I didn’t.”

“Until you _did,_ ” Althea points out. After all they’ve been through, she can’t imagine being upset with Isabelle over this.

“But until that moment…” she trails off. “In any case, I haven’t even apologized to you.”

“Sweetheart, I forgave you the second you lowered your gun.” Al moves to pull her close, and Isabelle lets her. “Besides, when would you have? You just got here.”

Isabelle shrugs against Al’s chest.

“We’re both pretty stubborn, and we both dug our heels in,” Al says, kissing her forehead, “and something tells me that won’t be the last time that happens. But in the end, we both also backed down – me, from trying to chase your story, and you from, uh, following your protocol.”

Lifting her head, Isabelle looks into Althea’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Al.”

“I forgive you. Already forgave you,” Al insists, holding her gaze, “I have absolutely no hard feelings toward you, Isabelle. Never have. I don’t want you carrying guilt around about this. Okay?”

“Easier said than done, but I’ll try. I tend to hold onto things and beat myself up over them… repeatedly,” she confesses.

“You know I can empathize with that.” Al gives her a sympathetic look and squeezes her tight.

Isabelle gives her a small smile. “I’m glad you understand, but not that you do it, too.” She pauses. “Al, have you told anyone know the details of how we met?”

Al shakes her head. “I haven’t told a soul, and I won’t. Dwight only knows the good stuff.” She grins. “Like about you having beer.”

“Alright, so there’s one good thing about that place,” says Isabelle, returning the smile, “But I’d rather have you.”

Carefully, not wanting to upset Isabelle again, AL says, “I have to admit, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from you, personality-wise, when I saw you again.”

Isabelle nods. “Al, I was astonished to hear your voice on the radio. I was so horrible to you. For nearly the whole time we were together.”

Al waves her off. “Remember? I’m a journalist; I’m good at reading people. I knew it was mostly an act. And I still thought you were hot - maybe a little scary, but I was definitely intrigued.”

“Good to know my intimidation tactics fell flat,” says Isabelle wryly, “I’ll have to work on that.”

“Maybe a little,” Al says, chuckling, “But the girl I _really_ fell for was the one I shared that beer with by a campfire. I think I can still see a glimmer of the scary soldier girl in you, but I’m thrilled that the campfire girl is the one I’m sharing a bed with now.” She runs her fingers through Isabelle’s sex-tousled hair.

“Me too,” says Isabelle, running her fingers through Al’s hair, too, “but did you just call me a _campfire girl_?”

Al grins. “Wait until you hear Dwight’s nickname for you, that he drove me crazy with all those months that I wouldn’t tell him your name. I’ll let him tell you, though.”

“I’m afraid to even ask! But it can’t be as bad as _Izzy_ … the bane of my childhood.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” Al assures her. “But I’m filing it away in my head to not ever call you _Izzy._ ”

“Thank you… you can call me anything but that!”

Isabelle reaches for her sketchbook, which has been tucked under her pillow since Al brought it home. She gives Al a small smile as she holds it up. “I’m not ready to share what’s in here yet…”

“It’s ok. Take all the time you need,” Al says quietly.

“…but I _do_ want to draw you, Al. For reals this time, not on notebook paper,” she clarifies. She opens the book to a blank page near the back and pulls out the pencil she’d slid into the spiral binding. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, but no boobs," she says, pulling the sheet around herself.

“You're absolutely exquisite, but I’ll keep it clean,” Isabelle assures her. “This time,” she mutters under her breath.

“I heard that!”

“You heard nothing.” A subtle smile graces her lips as she gets started. The sound of the pencil softly scratching the paper is inexplicably soothing to Al.

“Thank you, for understanding,” Isabelle says a few minutes later.

“We could fill an ocean with what we don’t know about each other yet, ‘Belle. It’s gonna take time, especially for some of the really hard stuff. Doesn’t all have to be said right now… I’ll feel the same about you regardless.” _And that feeling is love,_ she adds to herself in her head.

“You’re right, Al.” She looks up. “Speaking of learning things about each other, what your name is short for? Why don’t I know this?”

“I guess it just hadn’t come up yet.” Sitting up, Al grins and looks eagerly at Isabelle. “What do _you_ think it’s short for?”

“There’s a million possibilities,” says Isabelle, shaking her head. She studies the shape of Al’s jawline for a moment.

“Come on. There’s not a _million._ ”

Isabelle lets out an exasperated sigh and taps her pencil against her paper. “You’re really going to make me do this?”

Al nods, her grin turning into a smirk.

Isabelle sighs, yielding to her very persuasive, very charming girlfriend. “Umm, Alexandra? Allison? Alaina?” Al shakes her head at each guess. “Alma? Alicia?” Al snorts at this one. “Allegra? Alexa? …Al, we’re going to be here all day.”

“Considering that we’re naked and in bed together, that’s fine with me,” she jokes, deflecting Isabelle’s pencil poking at her ribs – the unsharpened end, thankfully. “Alright, alright. It’s Althea.”

“Althea. I _love_ that.” Isabelle emphasizes. She catches Al’s hand and kisses it, and then follows up by punching her. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me? It would’ve taken me forever to get to _Althea_.”

Al rubs her bicep as if Isabelle’s hit had actually been hard enough to hurt. “Thought this would be more fun. I guess I was wrong.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Isabelle declares, her eyes betraying her.

“But I’m _your_ pain in the ass.” Al points out, leaning over to press her lips to Isabelle’s before she can protest.

Al lies down again and Isabelle sighs and gives up on trying to sketch her. She closes the book and stretches out alongside the other woman, who immediately drapes an arm over her waist and pulls her closer to her.

“So, are you cool with being called Althea?” Isabelle asks as they both get comfortable.

“Honey, you can call me anything you want,” Al says, kissing Isabelle on the nose.

“Good… _Althea_.” And Isabelle kisses _her_ on the nose before their lips meet again. And again, and again.

When they finally come up for air, Isabelle smiles. “We got our do-over,” she says, trailing her fingers over Al’s breast, lazily circling her hardening nipple with her thumb. Unsure if Al remembers, she adds, “on you taking my top off.”

“Yeah, we did. And it was well worth the wait.” She closes her eyes and drops her head back as Isabelle moves her hand down to her waist, replacing it with her mouth. “Now we just need to make up for a year of lost time.”

“That should be a fun project,” Isabelle remarks and they both laugh.

“We could just… not leave this bed for a few weeks,” muses Al. “Dwight might have something to say about that, but if we don’t answer the door it’s not like he’s gonna do anything about it.”

Isabelle raises her eyebrows thoughtfully. “That’s true, but I know he doesn’t have a ton of food in here, and I’m already hungry now.”

Al gives her a knowing look, her lips sliding into a smirk, and Isabelle playfully shoves her onto her back. “You know that’s not what I meant!” Isabelle exclaims, leaning over Al for a kiss and finding herself wanting more of her again. Seeking confirmation that’s she’s not the only one, she slides a hand all the way up Al’s inner thigh, making her moan and push herself against Isabelle’s fingers.

Isabelle locks eyes with Al and brings her fingers to her own mouth, sucking the wetness from them. “But now that you mention it, Althea, I think you’re exactly what I’ve been craving.”

Then she smashes her lips down on Al's, and they lose themselves in each other as the remainder of the day disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by the Jesus & Mary Chain.
> 
> This chapter continues the trend of being high on fluff & dialogue, and low on action. I know that's not everyone's jam, but it's definitely mine right now! There will be an actual plot in here at some point, but it's taking its time to emerge.


	11. Coloring the sunshine hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle gives Althea a quizzical look. “Are you sure the two of you aren’t actually related?”
> 
> “Kinda seems like it sometimes, doesn’t it?” She puts a hand on Isabelle’s lower back. “So? What do you think? Of the house.”
> 
> Isabelle looks around, taking in their future home.

"I don’t understand how we’re almost exactly the same height _and_ we wear the same size, but I’m really glad we do,” says Isabelle, rolling up the sleeves of her plaid shirt. Al's plaid shirt. She’s dressed in an outfit consisting entirely of Althea’s clothing.

Al is about to open the door, but closes it and comes back over to Isabelle. She goes in for a kiss. “And yet my clothes look so much hotter on you.”

“Well, I like the way they look on you more.” Isabelle nips at her bottom lip, and Al lets her hands travel down Isabelle’s sides to her waist to pull her up against her as the other woman kisses her for real.

“You know, they’d look even better on the floor next to the bed,” she murmurs, letting one of her hands slip between them to fiddle with the button on Isabelle’s jeans.

Isabelle closes her eyes, ready to let herself get pulled right back into bed for a few more hours until her stomach growls loudly in protest. They both start to laugh, and Isabelle removes Al’s hand from her jeans and laces her fingers through hers. “That is so tempting, and it’s where I definitely want them to be a couple of hours from now. But we’ve spent the last… seven? eight? hours in that bed, and I think we need to get out of this house for a little bit. And eat. _Food._ I’m starving.” She gives Al one more peck on the lips. “And then we can come back here and get right back into bed.”

Al sighs, and then winks at Isabelle. “You, and your practicality, and being right.” She heads over to the cupboard and pulls out a protein bar and tosses it to the other woman. “We’ve got time before dinner… want to go check out our house right now?”

“I really can’t believe you guys have done all this in such a short time,” Isabelle muses, looking around as they walk on the dusty path from Dwight’s house to theirs. The buildings are a mix of old, pre-dam stone and brick, corrugated metal, and newer wood. Many are still in various stages of restoration or completion. A few of the structures have been painted or adorned with murals.

“Morgan and Rachel, and her baby, whom I _adore_ and you’ll meet at dinner _,_ have been here a little longer, but most of us got here about four months ago. Right now we’re trying to get everyone out of tents before winter, but there’s also teams expanding the fields and planting, working on communal buildings, canning fruit from the abandoned orchards around here, people who rotate to cook for everyone in the kitchen… they don’t let me anywhere near that, though.”

“Not much of a cook, Al?”

“Not to shock you, Isabelle, but I’ve always been more of a ‘burning the toast’ type of girl.

“Oh, I’m not shocked at all,” Isabelle assures her, and Althea rams her shoulder with her own. Isabelle regains her balance and grins at her, taking her arm.

"Anyway, it’s all really primitive right now, but there’s plans in the works for windmills, solar panels so we can have at least _some_ electricity, more plumbing, animals beyond the horses and chickens...”

Isabelle’s ears perk up. Back to that problem of not knowing much about each other yet – so much of her past, her life experiences, her interests, is tied up with things she hasn’t told Al yet – the parts that aren’t exactly fodder for casual conversation and are going to make her cry. _There will be time for all of that,_ she reminds herself again. Right now she’s thankful for Al’s seemingly never-ending ability to talk.

“Dwight and I made a deal to work together on both our houses, but his ‘expert’ rock-paper-scissors skills got him the first one finished. We’ve been working on other building projects, too, and we keep watch three nights a week. So it’s taken some time to get mine done. _Yours_ and mine done,” she corrects herself happily.

Isabelle laughs. “Wait, back up. You did rock-paper-scissors for _houses_?”

“The thing is, he thinks he won, because he’s housed and I’m still technically in a tent, but mine is a little bigger and it has a fireplace. _And_ we’re building a loft. So who really won?”

Isabelle is about to respond when something catches her eye. “I think I can guess which house is ours.”

Al turns around to see Charlie on the roof, this time with Dakota, the other teenage girl Alicia had brought with her from Lawton. They’re both wearing sunglasses, are barefoot, and have their jeans rolled up. Charlie leans over to say something to Dakota and they both giggle before smiling and waving at them.

“What is it with Charlie and being on the roof, anyway?” asks Isabelle.

Al shakes her head and sighs dramatically. “She was up there with Dwight working on it one day and fell off, and somehow didn’t get hurt. As you know, we don’t have a doctor here, so I’d rather not have a kid get severely injured from falling off _my_ roof. I freaked out; she thinks I overreacted. Which, I don't think I did. So, it’s the fucking apocalypse and they’re sunbathing. On the roof. I know they’re just up there to piss me off – look at those smug faces.”

“Well, obviously it’s working pretty well, Al,” Isabelle says gently, but with a note of amusement in her voice, “And to be fair, it’s the fucking apocalypse and we spent the entire day in bed.”

Althea ignores her excellent point and sends the girls a reproachful look. “ _Get off the roof._ Both of you. Now.”

“Okay, _Mom,_ but will you at least help us get down?” Charlie asks, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

“Hell no. You got yourselves up there, so you can get yourselves down.” Al rolls her eyes at Isabelle and nods toward the front door.

“The girls are on the roof again,” Al announces to Dwight as they walk into the house. She glares up at the high ceiling, hearing their footsteps above.

Dwight doesn’t look up. He sighs, remaining engrossed in his work, as if they’ve already had this interaction a dozen times. “They just do it to piss you off, and it’s working.”

Isabelle snickers. “That’s what I said, too.”

Dwight finally looks up. “Isabelle, hey!” Now that he’s noticed that Al isn’t alone, he puts his tools down and comes over to them. “I guess we haven’t really met yet. I’m Dwight. Sorry for tackling you to the ground the other night.” He brushes the sawdust off his hand and holds it out to her.

“I would’ve done the same thing,” she says graciously, “It’s nice to officially meet you, now that I’m not covered in blood.”

“Eh, that’s life these days. I’m real glad you’re here. Al’s talked about you a lot. _A lot,_ " he emphasizes.

“Dwight, come on,” pleads Al.

He ignores her and continues to address Isabelle. “Seriously, I’ve never seen her smile so much.”

Isabelle beams, and Al rolls her eyes. She can’t help but smile, though, when Isabelle hugs her around her waist and ruffles her hair. “I’m in the same boat. I can’t stop smiling when I’m around _her_ ,” Isabelle says.

Dwight jerks his head toward the door. “I’m gonna go check in with the girls. I'll leave you to your house tour.”

“Tell them they’re fired!” says Althea.

Dwight smirks. “Huh! That’s rich, coming from someone who I’m pretty sure spent her entire day in bed!”

Al’s face colors and Isabelle suddenly gets very motivated to go take a closer look at the fireplace.

“We were really tired, okay?!” She punches him in the arm. 

“Yeah, I bet you were!” teases Dwight, "Tired of wearing clothes, maybe."

Isabelle snorts from across the room, and after giving him a death glare, Al can’t help but crack up as well. “Bye, Dwight,” she says, giving him a little push toward the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner?”

“We’ll be there.”

“Good! It’s about time you let Isabelle out of your lair. Technically _my_ lair.”

Isabelle laughs, Dwight grins at her, and Al rolls her eyes again. “I guess I don’t have to worry about the two of you getting along, so that’s something, at least." She waves to him impatiently. " _Okay, bye, Dwight."_

Dwight leaves, and Al joins Isabelle by the fireplace.

Isabelle gives her a quizzical look. “Are you sure the two of you aren’t actually related?”

“Kinda seems like it sometimes, doesn’t it?” She puts a hand on Isabelle’s lower back. “So? What do you think? Of the house.”

Isabelle looks around, taking in their future home. Like their temporary one, the house consists of one large room with a wood floor, a front door, and a back door. Unlike it, there’s a platform built across the back half of the space, with the skeleton of a staircase leading up to it. All the doors and windows look salvaged, as does the floor, giving the house a lived-in charm that it otherwise would have lacked. It’s much closer to finished than Isabelle had expected, but there's still some work to be done.

The shining jewel of the small structure is the ancient-looking rock fireplace. Al watches Isabelle run her fingers over the rough surface. “I fell in love with this thing, so we built the house around it even though there weren’t any other usable walls at all. We had to do a lot of work on it, but I’m sure you and I will appreciate it in winter.”

“It’s incredible, Althea. The whole house, but I especially love the fireplace. It’s like a connection between you, and whoever was here before the town was flooded.”

Having gotten the approval she was longing for, Al beams with pride. “I had that same thought. I think about what it was like here before the dam all the time. You get it.”

“I do. I get to help finish the house, right? I don’t have any actual building skills or experience, but I can do whatever you or Dwight want to teach me.”

“I would love that, ‘Belle. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Neither of us had ever done a project of this size before, so we’ve been learning as we go along, too.”

“Alright, so tomorrow I guess I’m learning to build a house! Or sand stairs or something.” Isabelle takes Al’s hand and their eyes connect. “I can’t wait for it to get cold so we can spend evenings together, right here.” They pause for a moment, just imagining.

“I let myself daydream about that when we first started planning this house, hanging out in front of that fireplace with you. I just never thought we’d get the chance, so I guess it was more of an exercise in torture than a daydream.”

Isabelle sees the look in Al’s eyes change and she wraps her in a hug. “No more exercises in torture, okay? We’re together now, and I’m not going anywhere.” Isabelle feels her nod against her cheek.

Al clears her throat and changes the subject, gesturing toward the loft. The stairs are obviously not yet usable, but a ladder leans against the edge. “Wanna check out the upstairs?”

Althea climbs up first and moves the tools she’d left out into a corner, and offers a hand to Isabelle when she reaches the top. Isabelle gasps as soon as the small space comes into her view. The roof is sloped, and low – only about 7 feet from the floor at the highest point, but the sun shines in through a stained-glass window, painting the wood planks with bits of colored light.

“I really love this.” Isabelle plops down onto the colorful spot and Althea joins her, taking her hands. They sit cross-legged, knee-to-knee across from each other.

“When I was a kid, my dad and I built a treehouse together in our backyard,” says Al, “Being up here completely takes me back to being ten, listening to classic rock on the radio, my dad telling the dumbest jokes and teaching me how to use his tools. It was the best summer of my life.” By the look on her face, Isabelle can tell how magical this space is for her.

“I always dreamed about having a treehouse when I was a kid… never got one, though. But I think this will make up for that.”

Al leans over and kisses Isabelle on the lips. “I never kissed a girl in that treehouse, so this is already a major upgrade for me!”

“Tell me about the window. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one with a sunrise like that.”

“Isn’t it cool? I found it in an antique mall on a run with Dwight. I think it’s about a hundred years old. I got it before I even thought of building a loft. I just knew I had to have it.”

“I _loved_ going to antique malls. You know, before.” Isabelle lies down on her back, and Al moves next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, fingers laced together. “But why do you go now?”

“Most of the ones we’ve been to, we’re the first ones who’ve been inside in years. We always find a ton of useful stuff in them. Wool blankets, cast iron cookware, tools... old things were built to last. I’ll take you with me sometime. What did you look for when you’d go?”

Isabelle sighs. “Vintage dresses, black-and-white photos, antique books with typos on the covers. I had lots of little collections… nothing even remotely practical.”

Al looks over at her. “I feel like if we’d met before, I still would’ve been completely enchanted by you.”

A slow smile, tinged with just a bit of sadness, spreads across Isabelle’s face. “Pretty sure I would’ve been, too, with you.”

“Better late than never, right?” Al says.

Isabelle’s agreement shows on her face, and she holds Althea’s gaze for a moment. Al breaks it, turning her eyes back to the underside of the roof and starts babbling about that, not even completely sure why. “I’m going to insulate the roof at some point, but that’ll have to come later. I wanted to put in a skylight, but Dwight pointed out that it would end up leaking all the time and then I’d hate it. He’s not wrong. But I really liked the idea of being able to see—”

 _“Althea.”_ Determined to stop the chatter, Isabelle gets up and straddles Al’s hips, cupping her cheeks in her palms. “I cannot wait to live here with you.”

She’s got Althea’s full attention again. Her smile starts in her eyes before it takes over the rest of her face. She sits up, and Isabelle settles into her lap. “Really?”

“ _Of course._ I just want to fall asleep next to you, here, every night. How could there be any doubt in your mind?” She pushes Al’s hair out of her eyes.

“I don’t know.” Al feels as though her heart might burst with happiness as she looks into Isabelle’s hazel eyes. “Maybe not doubt; more like disbelief that this could be real life.”

“Well, here’s something real,” says Isabelle, “We need to get a bed.”

“Luckily, you happen to be moving in with one of the best scavengers in Texas. If you give me a list of clothes and stuff you need, I’ll get it all for you… _and_ a bed for us.”

“Yeah, I was gonna mention that. I should stay inside the settlement for now. I don’t know if they’re looking for me, but I can’t take the chance. I really appreciate you being my personal shopper. I'd much rather come with you.”

"I'd prefer that, too... trust me. Finding clothes you'll like? A little daunting."

"I'll take whatever I can get! And if I hate it all, I'll just keep wearing your stuff."

She squeals when Al smacks her butt, and she bites her neck in retaliation.

Al dumps Isabelle off her lap, pinning her arms to the floor as she begs to be let up, a huge smile on her face. 

Inches from her face, Al says, "You do realize I'll be expecting you to pay me back for the shopping, right?"

"Sure, just bring me the receipts and I'll PayPal you.”

“Or you can pay me back in our new bed."

“Even better."

Al looks down at her watch and sighs, getting to her feet and holding a hand out to Isabelle. “Let’s go eat dinner. Just know I’m apologizing in advance for anything else embarrassing my friends say to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Ladies of the Canyon_ by Joni Mitchell.


	12. Up where the conversation flows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as they’ve found family, so have others. Very few people in the settlement are blood-related, but nearly everyone has formed their own tightly knit groups, and they tend to gravitate toward them at dinner. A little bit of normalcy in the apocalyptic world.

The settlement’s current eating area is a hodgepodge of folding tables and chairs picked up on various runs, set up outside under a few portable canopies, already fading and tearing in the relentless Texas sun. Nearby is the kitchen, housed in an ancient structure that Al and Dwight had helped finish rebuilding the week prior, and the skeleton of a more permanent dining hall.

They get their plates of food and take them to the table where Al sits for dinner every evening with the part of her group that has found their way to the dam settlement: Dwight, Morgan, Alicia, and Charlie; plus the more recent additions of Dakota, Rachel, and her baby. As much as Al misses everyone else – June in particular – she’s thankful to have these friends by her side as they build their new lives together.

Just as they’ve found family, so have others. Very few people in the settlement are blood-related, but nearly everyone has formed their own tightly knit groups, and they tend to gravitate toward them at dinner. A little bit of normalcy in the apocalyptic world.

Everyone else is at the table when they arrive, minus Alicia. The conversation stops momentarily as Al and Isabelle slide into the empty seats across from Morgan and Dwight. Morgan’s face breaks out into a smile. “Here they are! Welcome, Isabelle.” He offers her a hand, and she shakes it. “Al, we haven’t been seeing much of you… glad you’re back, too.”

Things start out well enough. Al makes introductions to those who haven’t met Isabelle yet, and soon the conversation turns back to the usual settlement topics – the number of houses that need to be completed before winter, how plans are coming along for planting. Isabelle is safe from the questions that would have been typical in the old world – everyone still living at this point has experienced so much trauma that asking about a newcomer’s origins is not considered appropriate dinner conversation.

“Al, how’s your house coming along?” asks Rachel, trying to get her very active baby to nurse so she herself can eat. It’s not going well. Morgan’s big brown eyes are bright as she bounces from trying to get her hands on the food on her mother’s plate, to babbling at Althea, to trying to look around Al at the new lady sitting on her opposite side.

Sensing her friend’s frustration with her daughter, Al tries her hardest to ignore Morgan’s attempts at gaining her attention. “It’s great! I haven’t worked on it for a couple of days, but Dwight still has, because he’s the best person in the world,” she says, turning to make eye contact with her best friend across the table, giving him a genuine smile, the afternoon’s teasing forgiven. “I’ll be back to work on it tomorrow, and Isabelle, too. Should help move things along a little faster, having an extra person on our team.” She sneaks a glance at her, and they smile at each other. Al feels Isabelle’s hand slip into hers under the table. _Funny how you can find completeness with someone you’ve spent so little time with, if it’s the right someone,_ she thinks. _Isabelle is definitely the right someone._ She completely loses her train of thought, but Dwight steps in.

“We’re trying to get the loft finished so they can move in in a few days,” he says. “Other than that, it’s all finishing work that needs to be done. I really can’t believe how good it looks. I kinda wish I’d let Al have the first place.”

“Hey, the rock-paper-scissors was your idea, Dwight!”

“And I won… but did I really?”

Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t think you did, Dwight!” They laugh.

“So, do we get no credit whatsoever?” interjects Charlie. “For helping,” she adds.

Al turns and looks past Isabelle to give her a withering look. “Charlie, how many minutes of actual work did you and Dakota do today?”

“Um, how many minutes of work did _you_ do? I ran into you and Isabelle at nine this morning and then you just emerged from Dwight’s house an hour ago. What were you even doing all day?”

The question, coming from the second-youngest member of the family was asked innocently enough, but the whole table gets unusually quiet. Al sighs and rubs the back of her neck. Isabelle studies her food. Dwight nearly chokes on his water. Rachel busies herself with the baby. Morgan chuckles to himself.

Dakota kicks Charlie under the table. “What?” Charlie asks irritably, followed by, _“Ohh.”_

Luckily, Alicia arrives at the table, sunburned face and jeans lightly blood-spattered. Her face is tired, and… something else? Al isn’t quite sure what she’s reading on it. “Leish, how was the run?” she asks, hoping to gain a little insight and get the group’s attention turned away from herself.

Alicia shrugs and gives her a tight smile. “It was fine,” she answers shortly.

Althea is about to introduce Alicia to Isabelle when Alicia pointedly shifts her attention to Rachel. “I was able to find most of the stuff you asked for… I went back to that baby store.”

“I really appreciate it, Alicia. She’s been growing like crazy lately. I feel like she just went up a size last week, and she’s already outgrowing it! She’s getting so active, too.” As if to prove her mother’s point, Morgan makes a grand attempt at grabbing Rachel’s plate from the table, nearly tumbling out of her arms in the process.

“Here, I’ll take her off your hands so you can actually eat,” says Al, putting her fork down on her empty plate. She reaches out to take the baby from her friend. Baby Morgan’s eyes immediately light up when Al shifts her attention to her, and she grabs onto her shirt, completely forgetting her quest for solid food.

“Thanks, Al. She hasn’t been sleeping well the last few days, so neither have I.”

“I keep telling you, you need to let me babysit, Rach. Morgan and I are good friends.”

“We _are_ good friends, Althea,” says adult Morgan, “but I don’t think I need a babysitter.”

Isabelle gives Morgan a courtesy laugh, but Al shakes her head at him. “See, it’s good that Isabelle is here so you have someone to laugh at that. You make a joke like that at almost every meal, Morgan. Even though Sarah’s not here, I’m thinking we need to bring back the nickname.”

“I want you all to hear this,” Morgan announces, doing his best to conceal a smile, “Anyone who decides to call me ‘Momo’ will need to start looking for a new place to live.”

“Okay, Momo,” Charlie immediately says, cracking Dakota up.

Morgan gives her a smile and a wave. “Bye, Charlie. You can go too, Dakota.”

Dakota immediately stops laughing, a twinge of fear developing in her eyes, but Charlie responds by settling into her seat and looking smugly at Morgan. “You don’t even know how much you’d miss us, Morgan.”

Morgan concedes with a nod of his head and a grin, and Dakota relaxes.

“ _Anyway,_ Rachel. You need to let me watch the baby sometime,” says Al. She notices that while Morgan is still clinging to the front of her shirt, the baby's eyes are glued to Isabelle, who’s smiling and playing peekaboo with her. “Or rather, let _us_ watch the baby" she adds as she passes her into Isabelle’s open arms.

“I really am going to take you up on this,” warns Rachel.

"I hope you do! As soon as we’re moved into our house you can drop her off whenever.”

Isabelle nods her head in agreement with Al. “Seriously. Any time,” she says, already pulling a lock of her hair from Morgan’s fist and obviously not minding a bit.

Feeling like it’s safe to respond to Charlie at this point, Al addresses the girls. “Thank you for your help this week, Charlie and Dakota. Come tomorrow and I’ll _really_ put you two to work. Dwight is way too easy on you.”

She expects pushback, but gets cooperation. “So eight o’clock tomorrow? Or earlier? We could all have breakfast together,” suggests Dakota tentatively. Despite all her shenanigans with Charlie, she doesn’t speak much when the whole group is around, and the breakfast invitation surprises Al. Dakota is incredibly hard for her to read, and considering who her sister is, this has made Al feel a little uneasy having her living in their settlement. She’ll take any opportunity she gets to get to know the younger girl.

“That sounds great, Dakota. Same table, 7:30?”

“Perfect.” She smiles back at Al and goes back to eating her stir fry.

Alicia stands abruptly and picks up her half-full plate to take back to the kitchen. “I’m really tired, so I’m gonna go to bed.”

“You hardly ate anything,” says Morgan.

“I’m not very hungry,” she replies, before turning to her young tentmates. “Try not to make a lot of noise when you come in later. And don’t stay out too late.”

Al has no trouble reading the look on Alicia’s face as she manages to make brief eye contact with her – mixed in with the exhaustion are jealousy, confusion, and disappointment. Al offers her a weak smile, but Alicia looks away. Thankfully, Isabelle is saying something to Dakota, so Al won’t have to explain that mess tonight.

As Alicia walks past the table, Morgan makes a mad grab for her long hair, and it’s Isabelle’s turn to nearly drop her. She looks absolutely horrified, but Rachel just laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Isabelle. This happens at least a couple times a day, and you’d think I’d expect it by now… I never do. She can be a little impulsive, especially when she sees something that catches her interest.”

Morgan, the adult one, chuckles and Al can already predict what’s coming. “That sounds a lot like someone else I know.” He recounts how the precursor to Al and Isabelle met was her running off in the middle of the night, with an untreated head wound, because she thought she’d seen something out near the crash site. “She found something else instead, though... or maybe I should say some _one_.” He ignores the storm brewing on Al’s face. “And then when Alicia and I finally found her, one of the first things she does is blurt out her last name, which she’d never told us before, and to be honest I couldn’t repeat to you now.” He laughs at the memory. Morgan is not a man of many words, and _this_ is what he chooses to say when he finally speaks up?!

And then of course Dwight has to pile on. “It’s Szewczyk-Prygocki,”says Dwight, “And it’s even more of a mouthful when you see it spelled out. Trust me, Isabelle, whatever your last name is, when you guys—"

_“Oh my god, Dwight!”_

Dwight doubles down. “What’s the vowel-to-consonant ratio again, Al?”

Althea shoots daggers at him with her eyes. “I’m revoking my earlier comment about you being the best person ever. As one of my Polish grandmothers would’ve said, _pierdol się._ ”

Isabelle is dying to squeeze Althea’s hand in a show of solidarity, but at this point she’s terrified to let the baby out of the vice grip she’s got on her, so she settles for poking at Althea's boot with the toe of her own.

“Speaking of names… Dwight, Al said you had a name you used to call me since she wouldn’t tell you my real one. What was it?”

Al sits quietly, smirking at Dwight across the table.

“Nah, it’s stupid,” he says, waving off the question.

Isabelle keeps her eyes on him. “So I heard!”

“Beer Lady, Isabelle. I called you _Beer Lady_.”

Isabelle laughs and turns her face toward Al. “You were right… that’s pretty dumb.”

“Whatever. She’s the one who has a way with words, not me.” He says to Al, “Why didn’t you just tell me a fake name or something? You could of just called her, I dunno, _Barbra_ or whatever.”

The noise that comes from Al is nearly a cackle. “ _Barbra?!_ No, I couldn’t have just called her _Barbra,_ Dwight.”

“Now there’s no need to insult the great, probably late Ms. Streisand, Althea,” says Morgan.

Everyone looks at him with questioning eyes. Morgan smiles and shrugs his shoulders innocently. “John and June, they like their black and white classics. I prefer something with a little singing and dancing, some colorful costumes…”

“Who’s Ms. Streisand?” asks Charlie, and all eyes turn to her, Dakota included.

“You’ve _never_ heard of her, Char?” she asks, incredulously.

Morgan smiles kindly at her. “She was one of the most famous actresses and singers in the 1960s and 70s. Made some great movie musicals, like _Hello Dolly_ —”

“—and _My Fair Lady!”_ interjects Dakota.

“That was Julie Andrews, Dakota,” says Al.

“You mean Audrey Hepburn,” Isabelle corrects her. “Julie Andrews was in _The Sound of Music_ and _Mary Poppins._ ”

“Obviously, I was more of a _Labyrinth_ kind of kid,” clarifies Al.

“You remind me of the babe,” Isabelle says to her.

Al lights up at Isabelle’s familiarity with one of her childhood favorites. “What babe?”

“The babe with the power.”

“What power?”

“The power of voodoo.”

“Who do?” They smile bigger at each other as they recite each line.

“Uh, are you guys okay?” Charlie asks Isabelle and Al as they dissolve into laughter together.

Baby Morgan picks that moment to do her high-pitched laugh, and everyone else laughs in reaction to her.

“Way better than okay, Char,” Al replies.

“Hey, Morgan, do you think at some point we could have a movie night here? Like we did at the denim factory?” Charlie looks at the older man hopefully. “Maybe we could even have it outside, like with a projector on a wall or screen.”

“That sounds great, Charlie. You and Dakota, start thinking about how we’re going to get the electricity we need, and get back to me on that. Actually, you two can be in charge of the whole thing.”

Both girls stare at him, trying to decide if he’s joking, and to be honest, Al isn’t sure either.

Charlie and Dakota shoot each other a bewildered look. “Ohhhkaay, then,” says Dakota. “We’ll get right on that, Morgan.”

Morgan just smiles. “You girls are both very smart. I have faith in you.”

“Lucky us,” Dakota mutters.

“I’ll help you with it, if you want,” volunteers Al. “It’ll be fun.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” concedes Dakota with a shrug.

“Well, did it go the way you expected?” asks Isabelle as they walk home.

“Pretty much,” says Al. “Dwight and I will be having some words with each other, but that’s nothing new.”

“Tell me your last name again.”

Al winces and repeats it. Isabelle gets it right on the third try.

“Both my parents are Polish, and while I respect hyphenating a kid’s last name, this is one time when one parent just needed to take one for the team,” says Al. “I cringed every time I saw it in print on a byline, but I still couldn’t get myself to drop either name. What's yours?”

“It's the same as my aunt’s, and she’s pretty high up in the… organization I was in, so I’ll tell you later when we’re alone. My middle name is Claire, though,” she offers.

"Marie." Al takes hold of her hand and they swing their arms between them as they walk.

“I can see why Morgan is fighting so hard to get everyone back together. It’s obvious how much you all care about each other… despite the teasing.”

“You have no idea how hard I fought against getting tight with these people. With anybody, really. And then we got split up, and I found myself just wanting to be back with them. Now I have some of them back _and_ I have you. I have no idea how I got so lucky.”

Isabelle smiles. “You were right about the baby. She’s such a doll. Rachel looks kinda worn out, though; is Morgan always a handful?”

Al thinks about this. “I haven’t known a lot of six-month-olds, but I don’t think she’s more of a handful than most… except the attempts to launch herself out of people’s arms. Her dad died right when she was born though, so I think it’s because Rachel’s on mom duty 24/7. I absolutely love her. The baby, not Rachel,” she adds quickly.

Isabelle giggles. “Thanks for clarifying.”

Right as they’re arriving home, they hear footsteps behind them, and they turn to see Charlie trotting up behind them.

“Hey, Al? Can I talk to you for a sec?” She smiles apologetically at the other woman. “Sorry, Isabelle.”

“It’s fine, Charlie. I’m dying to get inside and take off my boots. Seven-thirty tomorrow, right?” Charlie nods.

Al sits down on the steps, and gestures for Charlie to do the same. She’s genuinely curious to hear what she has to say. “What’s going on, Charlie?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Al knits her eyebrows together. “What for, Char?”

“For embarrassing you at dinner.” She grimaces. “I’m only fourteen! I didn’t realize that—”

Al holds her palm out in a _stop_ motion “Say no more… it’s okay.” She rubs at her temples.

“Well, in any case I shouldn’t have been being so bratty to you.” She peers up at the older woman. “Are you okay, Al?”

“I’m fine. Dinner was just… kinda stressful.”

“Well, I’m sorry for being part of your stress tonight,” she says. “You know I think you’re the coolest adult I’ve ever known, right?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t know that,” says Al.

“I know you care about me and want me to be safe, but that’s because you care about everybody. You saved my life the day we met, remember? And that time with the land mines. You went in there to help Morgan without even thinking about getting blown to pieces yourself.”

Al doesn’t even know what to say.

“And you’re funny, and you’re just _you_ and you don’t seem to care what anyone else thinks. And you don’t try too hard to be my friend. You just are. And I’m really excited to work on the house with you tomorrow, _and_ to plan movie night… _and_ get to know your girlfriend.

“And I’m not gonna get on the roof anymore,” she concludes with a sigh. “I was just doing it to piss you off, anyway.” She grins, and Al rolls her eyes. “And you’re right. We don’t have a doctor here, and if I fall again, I’m probably not going be as lucky as last time.”

Al manages to not say _I told you so_ , but her face spells it out pretty clearly. “You should ask Isabelle to see her wound tomorrow… her wound from falling off a roof. It’s a beauty. Almost needed stitches, held together with bandages, super bruised around it.”

Charlie grins. “That’s really gross. And I’m totally going to ask.”

“For the record, you’re the coolest kid I’ve ever known, except my brother when he was your age. And I’m excited to do all those things with you, too. You know your house is next on my list, right? You and Dakota and Alicia’s? So we’ll be spending _a lot_ of time together.”

“And Isabelle?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” She pauses. “Al I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“He was a lot younger than me, but we were really close. I’ll tell you about him sometime.”

“Did you pick on each other, like you and Dwight?”

Al throws an arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. _“Constantly.”_

“Alright. I guess I’ll go find Dakota now. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Better not be late!” As the girl walks off, Al realizes she has one more thing to say. “Hey Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“I love ya, kid.”

Charlie’s face breaks out in a smile and she comes back to throw her arms around Al. “That’s the first time someone’s said that to me since my parents died.”

“Then I wish I’d said it a long time ago,” Al says, hugging her tight. It’s something they could all be saying to each other a little more often.

Charlie releases Al first. “Speaking of people you _love_ , I’ll let you get back to Isabelle.” She makes a kissy face at Al.

Al can’t help but grin at her. “Night, Charlie.”

“Night, Al. And I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ The chapter title is from _Capturing Moods_ by Rilo Kiley.  
> \+ _You remind me of the babe_ is from _Magic Dance_ by David Bowie on the Labyrinth soundtrack.  
> \+ According to my extensive internet research, _pierdol się_ means "fuck you" in Polish. My Italian grandmother would've said _vaffanculo._


	13. We're here, and it's now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sit, sipping their beverages in the candlelight, holding hands, their conversation bouncing from light, to heavy, back to light again. It’s just so easy to be with her, thinks Isabelle as the other woman trains her eyes and her gentle smile on her. Al has a seemingly endless well of stories, anecdotes, and little jokes, and that’s exactly what Isabelle needs, especially right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's a whole lot of sad in this one.

Al wakes with a start in the dead of night. Isabelle is faced away from her, openly sobbing like her heart is breaking. Even in the dark room, Al can see her entire body violently shaking – the motion might actually have been what woke her, rather than the cries. She’s unable to tell whether or not Isabelle is asleep, but it really doesn't matter.

“Belle?” She tentatively places a hand on Isabelle’s upper arm and shakes her gently. “Isabelle. Hey. You were dreaming.” She gasps, startled awake. “I’m here, sweetheart.” Isabelle grabs Althea’s hand and wraps her arm around her upper body. Al moves as close as possible to her from behind and holds her tight while she cries. At some point Isabelle turns over into Al, and eventually the sobs racking her frame start to weaken until she’s completely spent – just lying there, eyes wide, devastated by her dream, but comforted by the strong arms around her.

Isabelle doubts that she’ll be sleeping again tonight, and a half hour later she’s still in Al’s embrace, fully conscious. So is Al, refusing to let herself drift off while her girlfriend is so miserable.

Isabelle feels Althea press her lips to her forehead before she finally speaks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Isabelle extracts herself from Al’s embrace and sits up in bed, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking herself back and forth. A few more minutes go by before she says, “Al, I was married. I had a wife. We’d just had our third anniversary. We’d bought an old house and we were going to fix it up. We…” she trails off sadly.

Thanks to the jerk with the sketchbook, Al had already understood that a relationship had ended for Isabelle when the world did. Although she’d made an enormous effort to relegate it to the ‘not my business until she tells me herself’ corner of her mind, she’d still been anticipating eventually hearing about this very painful part of the other woman’s past.

Al cups Isabelle’s knee with her hand, and Isabelle quickly grabs it to hold in her own. “We were trying to get to safety. I made it, and she didn’t. I saw her get ripped apart.” Her face crumples and the tears start to stream down her cheeks again. “I watched it happen, and there wasn’t a thing I could do.”

_They’d made the decision to abandon their own sweet home and try to make it to Aunt Elizabeth’s house across town; figuring her status in the Marines would be their best bet at surviving this infection that was taking over Chicago. Halfway through the city, their car got stuck in a sea of vehicles, and when the dead swarmed, they were forced to abandon it and run. Upon finding a school with a high, sturdy-looking iron fence and a small group of survivors on the other side calling to them, they made a quick decision. Jamie, whose upper body strength was superior to Isabelle’s, would boost her wife up, and then she would follow. Isabelle had been incredibly uneasy about going first. She managed to get to the top easily enough, but then she lost her balance as she changed her position to climb over, and she fell… on the school side, at least. She was back on her feet quickly, although doubled over in pain, screaming at Jamie to hurry._

_But Jamie, distracted by her wife’s fall, wasn’t fast enough, and she was only partway up when the infected caught up with her. Isabelle still expected her to make it, even as they grasped at her ankles. But then a larger one, towering among the other dead, dug its teeth deep into her calf, and Jamie lost her grip, falling backward into the crowd of grabbing hands, clacking teeth, and whispery growls. Isabelle was frozen, minus the screams that still managed to rip from her throat, ears filled with the shrieks of agony coming from her wife as she was torn apart. Isabelle had to be dragged away from the fence and into the school building by the other survivors, someone’s hand clamped over her mouth to quiet her. That night was the end of everything she had known, loved, expected._

This is what had filled her unconscious mind as she slept happily, spooned by Althea, the woman she loves in this strange second life. It’s so unfair, she thinks, to not only have lost her wife in such a horrifying way, but to have it also taint this night with Al, one of the first they’ve ever shared. The nightmares about Jamie had diminished in the last year, and it dawns on Isabelle that now that Althea is a presence in her daily life instead of just her mind, maybe her past trauma will be finding its place back in the forefront of her subconscious. God, she hopes not.

“Isabelle.” All that comes out of Althea’s mouth is her name, and yet it expresses everything Isabelle needs to hear from her. She lets herself lean against Al, dropping her head to her shoulder. Al puts her arms around her, but Isabelle still shivers. Now that she’s not burrowed under the blankets with her furnace of a girlfriend, her tank top isn’t doing much to keep out the chill in the uninsulated house.

Al offers to make her some tea, and Isabelle nods gratefully. She hands Isabelle the flannel shirt she’d left draped over the foot of the bed, and pulls on a hoodie over her own threadbare t-shirt.

Soon the fire in the stove is roaring, the kettle is on the verge of whistling, and they’re both sitting at the kitchen table. It’s pitch dark outside, but the dancing glow coming from the little cluster of candles on the table between them is comforting. The process of getting dressed and lighting candles and sitting at the table to watch Al stoke the fire is a nice little distraction from the images still flashing in Isabelle’s mind.

The kettle whistles and Al gets up and pokes around in the cupboard. “Our choices are… black tea, or black tea.” She turns to Isabelle.

Isabelle gives her a small, tired smile. “Hmm, you choose, Al.”

Al returns the smile and turns back around, spotting something on the counter. “Oh, hang on, actually. We have a lemon; no honey, but there’s gotta be some sugar somewhere; and…” Al pulls a chair over to the cupboard and looks on the top shelf, where she unearths a fifth of whiskey. “I had a feeling that’d be up there.”

Curiosity piqued, Isabelle asks, “He hides his whiskey from…?”

“Himself? I have no idea.” Al cuts the lemon into wedges. “Alright. New choices: black tea or a hot toddy?” she asks, already knowing the answer before Isabelle responds.

Moments later Al is passing Isabelle a steaming mug, garnished with a lemon wedge and a cinnamon stick from a jar that Dwight must have scavenged on a whim. She sits down catty-corner to Isabelle with her own drink.

“I was pretty sure you’d gone through something like this. I’m so, so sorry.” Althea sighs. “I didn’t want to tell you the details about the asshole with the sketchbook, because, well, he was a huge asshole, but he flipped through it and felt the need to inform me that there were two women together in the pictures. So I assumed there was a partner, but I never looked through the book myself.”

“I don’t think I would’ve faulted you too much if you had, Al.”

Al shook her head. “Never. It was your business, and yours alone, until you decided to share it.”

They sit, sipping their beverages in the candlelight, holding hands, their conversation bouncing from light, to heavy, back to light again. _It’s just so_ easy _to be with her,_ thinks Isabelle as the other woman trains her eyes and her gentle smile on her. Al has a seemingly endless well of stories, anecdotes, and little jokes, and that’s exactly what Isabelle needs, especially right now.

“Al, what’s the story with your shirt? I know you’ve got one.”

Althea grins at her, and tells her how she scored her vintage Smiths t-shirt – possibly the softest thing she’s ever owned, and definitely the coolest. She’d liberated it from a record shop in Austin a few months back – nearly dying, and infuriating Dwight in the process – but she just hadn’t been able to help herself when she’d seen it through the grimy window.

“I’m sorry, Al, but I’m on Dwight’s side on this one. That’s crazy!”

“It happened right after I got stuck under Ginny’s thumb, and before the first time I heard you on the walkie. Let’s just say I didn’t feel like I had much to live for, so it seemed worth it at the time. Now? I probably would’ve left it as soon as I realized I was going to have to battle a shopful of undead hipsters and nerds to get it.”

They both chuckle, and Al stirs her cinnamon stick in the quickly cooling liquid at the bottom of her cup. They fall into a comfortable silence.

Isabelle is the one to break it. “Althea, I don’t want you to think that any of this means that I… care about you any less.” Al furrows her brow, unsure where Isabelle is going with this. “I loved Jamie, I’ll always love Jamie; but it’s like that was a different life, and I was a different person. What we had has nothing to do with what you and I have. Or _will_ have, in the future.”

“It’s okay. Both our lives would both be radically different if this hadn’t happened. I’d probably be halfway across the world, reporting on yet another war. If I hadn’t been shot or blown up in a landmine already.” Speaking of the risks she’s taken in her life. _Isabelle has no idea_ , she thinks to herself. “You’d still be married, and happily picking out tile for the upstairs bathroom or something. I don’t know. What I do know, is we’re here, and it’s now. We’re together, and it’s a miracle that we are.”

She drains the end of her cup, grimacing at the overwhelming presence of cinnamon in the final sip. “And I’m sure that sometime soon you’ll be up in the middle of the night with me while I cry and hold onto _you_ for dear life.” She smiles sadly at the other woman and strokes her cheek. Isabelle closes her eyes, relishing Al’s touch.

“Is there anyone still alive who doesn’t have nightmares like this?” ponders Isabelle.

`“If there is, I want to know their secret.” Al kisses the top of her head, her cheek, her lips. “Feel like getting back into bed? We don’t have to sleep… I just want to curl up with you.”

“That sounds really good. Thank you, Al, for the drink. _And_ for taking care of me… yet again. I didn’t think I’d be able to go back to sleep, but between the whiskey, and being with you, I might.”

They climb back into bed and Isabelle immediately reaches for Al, pulling her into a longer kiss than the other woman would have expected. Isabelle doesn’t want to sleep or 'just curl up' yet. After the onslaught of thoughts and feelings about her past, she wants to, _needs_ to reconnect with her present – with Al. Not to drive her late wife out of her mind, but to erase the nightmare, at least until the next time; there’s sure to be a next time.

When they’re finally drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms, the sun is starting to rise. This hour of sleep is one of the best ones that Isabelle has ever had.

Not that it makes either of them feel any more refreshed when the alarm on Al’s watch goes off; nor does it make it easier for them to get out of bed. They stumble across the village to the kitchen to find their people and get some breakfast. Luckily, there’s coffee today.

“Rough night?” Dwight asks, realizing immediately he probably should have just said _Good Morning_ and left it at that.

Isabelle nods slightly. “Nightmares… mine.”

“That really sucks. I get them, too,” says Dakota.

Charlie raises her hand. “At least once a week,” she shares, “Alicia, too.”

“Althea could tell you all about mine,” shares Dwight.

Althea looks at her friend. She really does love him, even if they’re a little too mean to each other sometimes. “And you could tell them all about mine,” she says, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

And they all leave it at that so they can enjoy their breakfast and make plans for the day. Dwight and Al will finish cutting the treads and risers. Dakota, Charlie, and Isabelle are sanding them.

“Aww, that’s exactly what you’d predicted doing, Isabelle,” says Al.

“It’s like a dream come true.” Her tone is a little sarcastic, but the words are earnest. She locks eyes with Althea. Finding love again, working on the house they’re going to live in together; it really _is_ a dream come true.

Charlie smiles, oblivious to the moment being shared. “The good part about sanding is that it makes your arms look ripped.”

“If you don’t give up after ten minutes, which we always do,” points out Dakota.

“That’s true… but not today,” insists Charlie.

Isabelle smiles wryly at her. “I’m holding you to that!”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Dakota, we’re outnumbered by adults.”

“Char, we always are,” she points out, “But as long as my sister isn’t one of them, I’m pretty okay with that!”

“I hadn’t even looked at it that way.” Charlie looks at Dwight and Althea, both of whom are occasionally a little too bossy. She makes eye contact with Al and smiles, and Al gives her a wink.

Isabelle holds hands with Althea, _not_ under the table this time, and no one says a word, giggles, or really even pays attention. Three days in, and Al’s family has already started to become Isabelle’s family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Stretch Out and Wait_ by the Smiths.
>
>> "Amid concrete and clay, and general decay, nature must still find a way."


	14. You and me, we got our own sense of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al smiles to herself and shakes her head. “It’s weird; if you’d asked me a few years ago what I’d thought of a life like that, I would’ve told you it sounded like utter boredom. And now? I think it sounds like perfection.”
> 
> “Well, that’s good," says Dwight, "because it sounds like you’re gonna get that perfection now – as long as walking dead people doesn’t detract too much from it.”
> 
> “I mean, that part isn't ideal, but what is?”

The next few days fly by as Isabelle gets acclimated to life in the settlement, and Al attempts to balance her usual responsibilities with spending every possible moment with her.

Not yet having any formal responsibilities, Isabelle has been putting in double-time on the house, spending long hours sanding, staining, and completing simple bits of carpentry work that Dwight or Al have helped her start. Surprising all three adults, Charlie and Dakota have been spending nearly all of their time helping out, and Isabelle is hardly ever alone in her work.

Althea and Dwight head straight to Althea’s house after an early morning supply run, pulling behind them a red metal wagon, found at the hardware store. It’s loaded with a few of their finds; the rest still wait in the bed of the pickup truck. Down the path they can see and hear Isabelle and the two teenagers crowded onto the front steps together, taking a break and laughing their heads off about something while Dakota braids Charlie’s hair. “What is it about Isabelle that they’re so drawn to?” Al wonders aloud to Dwight.

“I don’t know… what is it about her that _you’re_ so drawn to?”

Al gets that look in her eyes, the one she gets every time she sees, touches, talks to, or even thinks about Isabelle. _“Everything.”_

“Well, that’s specific.” Dwight chuckles and Al shrugs.

“Don’t worry, Al… one of these days she’ll have to tell one of them to stop twirling a saw like it’s a baton or something, and then they’ll both have a reason to be mad at her. And they’ll come running back to us.”

Al laughs and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Nah, she can keep ‘em!”

When they get to the house, Althea leans down to quickly kiss Isabelle on the lips, and she immediately hops to her feet. “Want to see what we’ve been working on?”

Dwight sits down with the girls, and Isabelle leads Al into the house and up the stairs, which, as of yesterday, are stained, sealed, and finally usable.

Al looks around the loft, which appears just as it did yesterday. “What did you want to—” she starts. She gets her answer when Isabelle turns around and smashes her lips to hers.

“Just wanted to say hi to you for real, and I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone” says Isabelle quietly, a millimeter from Al’s mouth. “You were gone before I even woke up this morning.”

Al wraps her arms around her waist. “Does it help to know I kissed you goodbye, even though you were asleep?”

Isabelle considers this. “Maybe a little. But next time just wake me up, okay?”

Al gives a slight nod and returns her lips to Isabelle’s. It’s like magic, kissing her. Every single time.

They hear a knock on the open front door downstairs, and Al expects to hear Dwight’s voice harassing them, but instead it’s Dakota. “Isabelle, we weren’t working on anything in the loft this morning… Did you guys get lost?” she taunts them.

“Actually, I just wanted to kiss my girlfriend good morning without hearing any commentary or making anyone puke,” says Isabelle, rolling her eyes at Al, “Sorry, Ms. Dakota. It won’t happen again.”

“Which means next time we’ll just make out in front of you,” yells Al, eliciting a gagging noise from Charlie.

“Ugh, never mind. Take all the time you need,” the younger girl yells up at them.

Isabelle laughs and they head downstairs together. “So, here’s what we were actually working on…”

They’d spent the morning sanding and priming the balusters that Althea had cut the afternoon prior. Al and Isabelle had already talked about paint colors, and on the supply run that morning Al had found a gallon of midnight blue, so dark it’s almost black. She sends Charlie out to get the paint from the wagon. “I really hope you like it, Belle.” She gives her an apologetic smile. “I feel bad making all these decisions when you’re the one who actually knows about this stuff.”

“Oh, stop. I’m sure it’s fine. All I did was tell you a color I like; it has nothing to do with being an artist,” says Isabelle, prying the lid off with a screwdriver. “See? I love it. It’s pretty much exactly what we talked about. And actually, I think dark blue was _your_ idea first, Al.”

“Well, hopefully I did okay with the clothes, too… I made a pretty good dent in your list. That’s why we left so early this morning.”

“Babe, thank you! I didn’t even know you were looking today.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“I’ll thank you now, and again later,” says Isabelle, giving Al a peck on the cheek.

“I like that color,” Dwight says before going back to inspecting the balusters. “Looks like the primer is dry, if you want to paint these before lunch.”

Isabelle gives the girls a short lesson on how to go about painting the narrow pieces of wood, and then nervously unleashes the two teens on the project. The adults work on the tongue-and-groove planks that will be the interior walls; a huge undertaking, but one that’s going to be worth the effort in the long run. They try to ignore the laughs and screams coming from out back where the girls are working.

“Think of it this way,” says Dwight, “The paint is pretty matte so it’ll hide a lot of imperfections, and if it looks _too_ bad, you can always make them resand and repaint.”

“That’ll go over well,” comments Al, “If that’s what it comes to, Isabelle, you’re breaking the news to them.”

“Why me?!”

Dwight grins. “You’re their favorite right now… it’s time you got knocked off that pedestal.”

Isabelle smirks to herself as she returns to her work. Pedestal or not, it’s nice being the favorite, at least for the moment.

When the group breaks for lunch, Althea and Isabelle make a detour to Dwight’s house with the red wagon full of bags of clothes and other necessities Isabelle had asked for. “Whatever you don’t like or doesn’t fit can just go into storage,” Al tells her. “Someone else will want it eventually.”

Isabelle nods her approval at most of Al’s selections, and everything she tries on fits, with the exception of a pair of boots. “I can’t believe this,” she says.

“I _might_ have already tried it all on at the store. Since we’re so close in size.” She smiles at her girlfriend. “Figured it’d be easier than having to do this multiple times. Hope it was worth not seeing me this morning.”

“I always want to see you, Al. But you did good,” says Isabelle, pulling off the top she’d just tried on. She’s about to replace it with her work shirt when Al pulls her down onto the bed with her.

“Just hang out with me for a minute,” she says, already kissing Isabelle’s neck.

“Only if you take off your shirt, too.”

“Fair enough, but I just kinda wanted to chat about house stuff.” Al realizes how untrue her words are the moment they leave her mouth. She runs her hands down Isabelle’s back. “But we’ve both been working all morning in our jeans, so we probably shouldn’t be wearing them on the bed, either.”

Isabelle pulls Al’s tank top off over her head. “No rule saying we can’t chat about house stuff naked.”

An hour later, they’ve missed lunch, and no house stuff has been discussed. As they dress, the two women catch each other’s eye.

“Althea, I think I might be addicted to having sex with you.”

Al bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “Don’t even say that, or we’re going to be right back in that bed again.”

Isabelle runs her fingers through her hair. “How’s my hair? Is it obvious?”

“That you just got fucked? Kinda, but—” And then somehow they’re kissing again, and they find themselves on the bed again, and the clothes start coming off again.

As they make their walk of shame to join their building crew at their own house, they link their pinkies and make eyes at each other and repeatedly bump shoulders like a couple of giddy teenagers. “What’s our cover?” says Isabelle, under her breath.

Althea leans over to kiss Isabelle’s cheek and gets her ear instead, and they both laugh. “Belle, we disappeared for two hours. There’s nothing that can cover this situation.”

Dwight is waiting for them on the porch steps, and he does a slow clap as they approach. “You missed lunch again… is this the third day in a row? Or the fourth?”

“Sorry we’re late, Dwight,” Isabelle says, guiltily. “I really wanted to try on the clothes Al got for me today."

Dwight knows that’s only a small sliver of the truth, but as long as Isabelle makes his best friend as radiantly happy as she does, she can do no wrong in his book. “They’re not going to fit for much longer if you keep skipping lunch,” he teases. “But it’s okay, Isabelle.” He cracks his knuckles and gets to his feet. “Ready to get to work?”

“Where are the girls?” asks Al as they head inside.

“Canning the apples that Nora, Fernando, and Lee harvested yesterday. They needed extra hands in the kitchen.” He looks at the wishful look on Isabelle’s face. “And I’m guessing that’s where you wanna be, too.”

“I’ll just go check to see if they need me, if it’s okay with you both.”

“Have fun, Belle! Hopefully, I’ll see you at dinner,” says Al. She waits until the other woman leaves before telling Dwight, “Isabelle canned with her grandparents every summer as a kid, and with her wife before everything fell. She loves that kind of stuff.”

“Then I have a feeling she’ll be running the whole show within an hour. Nora told me none of them really know what they’re doing.” Dwight smirks. “Maybe we won’t all die of botulism this winter after all.”

“Maybe not!”

Dwight digs through the toolbox, and Al starts setting up their workspace. “So, Isabelle’s been opening up about her past?” he asks, a bit cautiously.

“Since the nightmares, she has. It seems like it’s kind of a relief for her. Nothing involving the last three years, but I didn’t really expect that anyway.”

“She was married?”

Al nods. “Her wife died right at the beginning. Very painfully, and Isabelle saw it happen.”

“That’s rough.” Dwight pulls out his pocket knife and starts sharpening a pencil from the toolbox with it. “How are you doing with that?”

Al shrugs. “It’s hard to know she’s living with that kind of pain. I’ve seen people die like that, and I know my brother probably did, and everyone else I’ve ever cared about. But her story is on a different level, having been there when it happened to a loved one.”

“And what about the whole marriage thing?”

“You know, I’m surprisingly okay with it. It’s a little weird knowing she was so in love and that it wasn’t something that ended by choice, but the way she put it is, it happened in a different life. She’s right. It was a different life.”

Al starts her work cutting the last of the railing, and Dwight heads to the staircase to mark where the balusters will need to be attached to the treads.

“So Isabelle and her wife, Jamie, they’d just bought a house. They were going to restore it, they’d started planting a huge garden, fruit trees, they had chickens, all that.”

“In the city?”

“Double lot. So she knows about a lot of really random stuff. Really useful random stuff, like the canning.” Al smiles to herself and shakes her head. “It’s weird; if you’d asked me a few years ago what I’d thought of a life like that, I would’ve told you it sounded like utter boredom. And now? I think it sounds like perfection.”

“Well, that’s good, because it sounds like you’re gonna get that perfection now – as long as walking dead people doesn’t detract too much from it.”

“I mean, that part isn't ideal, but what is?”

“Nothing,” concedes Dwight. “Hey, when are you thinking you guys will move in here?”

“Maybe Sunday? It’s Thursday now. There’s not a ton we absolutely need… we’re just excited to start sleeping here.” She glances up at Dwight, waiting for a snarky comment which, for once, doesn’t come.

“We could go out again on Saturday,” he offers.

“Sure,” says Al. She looks at her friend out of the corner of her eye. “So, I think we need to be looking for a new bed… for you. Belle and I can just take yours.”

“I just got that bed a month ago, Al.”

“I know, and Isabelle and I have had a ridiculous amount of sex in the last week, which is a fourth of its entire life.”

He laughs. “Really had to put that out there, huh.”

“Hey, it’d been a while. And by that, I mean I was already pretty deep into a dry spell when the world ended… I deserve a week or two of my girlfriend just endlessly sitting on my face.” She winks at her best friend, her lips twisted into a smirk.

“Oh my god, Al!” 

“You’ve been teasing me constantly, and now you’re gonna act embarrassed when I make one sex joke?”

“It was just… a little graphic.” He shrugs. She notices that the undamaged half of his face is bright red. “The bed’s all yours.”

“Happy to take it off your hands. Thank you again, for letting us stay in your house all this time.”

“It’s only been a week. And I’d do anything for you… for the both of you, actually.”

“I’m so relieved to hear you say that, Dwight. I was worried you guys wouldn’t get along, or there’d be weird jealousy.”

“Nah, I didn’t lose a platonic life partner; I gained a second one,” says Dwight, riffing on the cliché that used to adorn wedding cards and toasts when those things still existed.

There’s no sign of Isabelle until dinner, when she joins Al at the table smelling like cinnamon and apples. “God, you smell so good. I could just completely fucking devour you right now,” Al murmurs into her ear after Isabelle drops in the seat next to her.

“Well, you’re going to be waiting a while, because we still have so much work to do!” By the radiant look on her face, Al can tell her girlfriend doesn't consider this a bad thing.

Al squeezes her knee under the table. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Belle.”

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing I went. I think I’m the only person who’s really canned before, so I’m kind of running things. And it’s… _exhilarating_.”

She turns to Rachel. “I’ve been wanting to make baby applesauce especially for Morgan but I haven’t had time. Wanna come help with that after dinner?”

“I’d love to, Isabelle, but—”

“—Morgan will be busy having a great time with me,” Al finishes for her. Morgan looks up from the mashed potatoes she’s smearing on her face to give Al a messy smile when she hears her say her name. 

“Alright, then I guess I’d love to, Isabelle.” Rachel gives her a shy smile, and Al realizes how rarely she sees her venture socially outside of their small group.

Isabelle rushes off fifteen minutes later, with a promise from Rachel to join her after she feeds the baby and packs some supplies for Al.

Charlie and Dakota, not in a rush to rejoin the canning party, follow Rachel and Al to the house she shares with both Morgans.

“Al! Isabelle is being so bossy!” reports Charlie.

Dakota nods, her eyes wide. “Way more than you.”

Althea smirks. The moment she’s been waiting for. “Well, are you in a space with a lot of people and knives and glass and hot things?”

“Yeah.” They both avert their eyes from Al’s face, realizing they should’ve kept their mouths shut.

“Are you working on something that could potentially poison everyone if it’s not done right?”

“Yes,” says Charlie begrudgingly.

“So, either you can’t handle having someone who knows what she’s doing telling you what to do, even though the safety of everyone here is on the line, _or_ you’re fucking around too much.” She raises her eyebrows and gives what she knows will be interpreted as a _mom_ look.

The girls look at each other from the corners of their eyes as Al keeps her gaze steady. Rachel hides a smile.

She goes on, not giving them a chance to respond. “My guess is it’s a little of both. Here’s my advice, whether or not you want it: Grocery stores probably won’t be back within your lifetime. People will always need to eat. If you learn to do this stuff, not only will you be able to help yourselves survive, but you’ll be also indispensable to any community you might end up in. Dakota, _you especially_ should understand how important it is to have a skill people need. So go back, be ready to do whatever it is that Isabelle, or whoever else, tells you to do, and learn from it. Next time you’ll probably be given a little more responsibility, and get told what to do a little less.”

“Do _you_ know how to can, Al?”

“Pfft. No, but I don’t need to.” She grins at the girls. “I have Isabelle.”

The laugh Rachel had been holding in finally escapes.

Besides getting a little fussy after Rachel kisses her goodbye, Morgan and Althea have a very nice evening together. Despite having been the one to offer to babysit, it’s been years since Al has cared for a baby. Before heading to Dwight’s house she wanders the small settlement with Morgan in her arms. After Al notices her big brown eyes light up at the whinny of a horse, they head over to Auggie and Pretzel’s pen. Morgan is delighted by their soft whuffing noises and the baby-soft fur on Pretzel’s muzzle when Al holds her tiny hand out to gently pet her. She might be a little young to start a full-blown horse obsession, but Al won’t be surprised if it happens in the future.

By the time Rachel stops by the house to pick up her daughter, she’s fast asleep on Althea’s chest on the bed.

“It went okay?”

Al nods. “I really love hanging out with her. Did you have fun?”

Rachel sighs, and smiles. “I did. It’s been a long time since I got to spend time with other adults and didn’t have Morgan with me. I love her to pieces, but it was a nice break. Thank you, so much.” She takes the sleeping infant from Al and cradles her while Al packs up the various baby things from around the house.

“How were the girls?”

“Respectful. Helpful. Hilarious.”

 _“Good_. Obviously, I don’t know Dakota as well, but Charlie is such a sweet kid. She’s just so different when they’re together, you know? It’s good she has a friend, though.”

“Yeah, we all need some of those. Speaking of… I really like Isabelle, Al.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s running a tight ship in the kitchen, but she’s kind, funny, and she really knows her shit with canning, unlike literally everyone else in there. I’m really glad she’s here.”

Al’s smile just grows. “Yeah, me too.”

“She wanted me to tell you not to wait up for her… she probably won’t be home until after one.”

They say goodnight, and for the first time since Isabelle’s arrival, Al falls asleep by herself. After being on watch the night before, sleeping four hours, the early supply run, putting in a day’s work on the house, and then babysitting all evening, she’s exhausted. She climbs into bed with a notebook, planning to work on a list of things they need to do before moving into their new house. She gets as far as changing _find bed_ to _find bed for Dwight_ before falling asleep.

At some point the distinctive _click_ of the front door breaks through Al’s slumber, and she smiles into the pillow as she hears the sound of Isabelle taking off her boots by the door, followed by the rustle of each piece of clothing being removed and dropped to the floor as she walks across the small house. Jean jacket. Shirt. Camisole. Jeans. Underwear. Al feels her own body react to the almost undetectable sound of that last piece of fabric hitting the floor, but she still stays motionless, not quite ready to let it be known that she’s awake.

The mattress dips as Isabelle gets into bed behind Al. She splays her hand out on Al’s stomach and kisses her neck, and Al instinctively presses her body back against the other woman’s. Knowing now that she’s awake, Isabelle’s hand travels downward. A week isn’t a long time, no matter how many hours of it you spend in bed, but Isabelle has already figured out what her girlfriend likes, when she wants it, and how to give it to her. After Althea goes slack in her arms, Isabelle murmurs in her ear, “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I woke you up when I came in.”

“I’m not.” Al turns over and buries her nose in Isabelle’s hair. “Mmm, you still smell like cinnamon and I _still_ want to devour you.”

They both know how tired they’re going to be the next day, but neither of them can bring themselves to care too much. They won’t always have this level of insatiable need for each other, so they might as well enjoy it to its fullest while they do.

They collapse into each other’s arms a little later, trembling and a little breathless. They kiss slowly, sleepily. “Sex addict,” Althea chides, and they both laugh softly.

“But only with you,” Isabelle clarifies.

“Same for me, and I’m not even going to deny it,” says Al. “By the way, I told Dwight that you and I will by moving this bed to our house since it’s almost new anyway.. We’ll find a brand new one for him – one that hasn’t been defiled by sex addicts.”

“Probably a good idea,” says Isabelle. They make eye contact in the dim room and smile at each other.

“Belle, I am so happy,” whispers Althea.

Isabelle takes her face in her hands and kisses her softly. “Me too.” She lies back against the pillow and Al curls up against her, head on her chest, and they tangle their legs together. She can feel Isabelle’s heart beating against her cheek and it starts to lull her into a daze.

Isabelle wraps her arms around her Al and sighs, feeling pretty relaxed herself. She doesn’t fall asleep right away. Instead she combs her fingers gently through Althea’s hair, and while listening to her breaths grow long and even, she envisions their first night in their new house. Believing the other woman is asleep, she drops a kiss on her forehead and whispers the words that have become impossible to keep inside: “I love you, Althea.”

An hour later, Al is still lying curled up against Isabelle, her words playing on repeat in her head. She’ll never tell Isabelle what she heard, but soon, maybe tomorrow, she’ll tell her how she feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Hannah Hunt_ by Vampire Weekend (and covered beautifully by I'm With Her).
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is the name of a song by Weyes Blood.  
> Chapter 1 title is from _Always Forever_ by Cults.  
> TWD World Beyond notes ( **Major season 1 spoilers!** ):  
> \+ Lieutenant Colonel Elizabeth Kublek is one of the higher-ups in the CRM  
> \+ In ep 1, the audience is led to believe she might be Isabelle's mother  
> \+ It's later revealed that she's actually Huck's (aka Jennifer's) mother.  
> \+ Isabelle isn't involved in any of the World Beyond storylines nor is she related to anyone (as far as we know).  
> \+ The CR is conducting experiments on humans - remember the A's and B's in TWD? Yep.  
> \+ This story starts about 3 years into the apocalypse. WB is about 10 years in, so this is 7 years before we meet Elizabeth and Jennifer/Huck in the show.  
> 


End file.
